Blood We Choose
by DaughterofHadesandNyx
Summary: AU Female Harry. Sequel to LSBD. "I can't seem to keep a single good thing that matters in my life," said Tempest. "So I suppose this is me trying to."
1. The Arrival

**Blood We Choose**

 ** _Chapter One-_**

"There's no number twelve on this street." The cabbie strained over his wheel to crane his neck up at the townhouses as they rolled by. "Look, miss, it's just odd numbers on this side. Are you sure you have the address right?"

Tempest looked out of the passenger window and grinned. "Exactly right. Thank you sir- just here is fine. How much do I owe you?"

The cabbie gave a sum, which Tempest dug out from the emergency supply she kept at the bottom of her bag. It hadn't been a long drive, though the notorious London traffic had stretched the travel time enough to make the fare substantial. Still, Tempest muttered an absentminded 'keep the change,' as she got out of the cab, Nyx's carrier under her arm and hauling her trunk out after her.

The sky had still been light when the Hogwarts Express had pulled into Kings Cross, and it was only just beginning to darken as Tempest walked down the street, past fifteen, thirteen, and… there.

Tempest stopped before the steps of number twelve and looked up, up at the battered and worn door, the dirty walls and grimy windows. Almost identical in architecture to the two townhouses that stood beside it, number twelve Grimmauld Place had clearly fallen into disrepair.

She mounted the steps, dragging her trunk up with her, and stopped before the front door. The black paint was shabby and scratched. The silver doorknocker was in the form of a twisted serpent. There was no keyhole or letterbox, and for the first time, Tempest felt a flicker of doubt.

What if Sirius wasn't there?

Tempest grasped the body of the serpent and gave three hard knocks.

The metal thudded against the wood dully, and Tempest waited, with an increasingly restless Nyx in her carrier. A minute passed, and Tempest knocked again, a touch louder. From behind the door, she heard a faint clatter.

"Sirius?" she called.

She heard a slightly louder clatter, sounding far closer. Then she heard a muffled bark, like an animal shut in.

Tempest realized all of a sudden and felt foolish. "It's Tempest," she said, checking quickly over her shoulder to make sure the street was empty and there was no one to hear. "I knew you first as Padfoot. If things go to plan, I'll be Buck."

Tempest heard what she thought might be a laugh, and then there were a series of loud, metallic clicks that sounded from the door, and the clatter of a chain. The door creaked open, and Tempest was seized by the front of her shirt and dragged in.

The door slammed behind Tempest's trunk, and in the dim light of the building, she looked up at her godfather.

"Hello," Tempest said, the word feeling wholly inadequate.

"Hello," replied Sirius. He ran a hand through his hair; it was growing out again, strands curling about his ears. "I wasn't expecting-"

"No, it was a spur of the moment thing," said Tempest all at once. "I was meant to go to Minnie's- it was the plan- but then I thought- I thought I can manage a few days without all my things, and here I am." She finished her short speech with a tentative smile, because now that she had slowed, she realized Sirius was just standing there, looking at her.

He was covered in dust, Tempest now noticed; he was holding his wand and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows as though he had been working at something.

Sirius seemed to see the growing expression of doubt forming on Tempest's face, and he hurried to speak. "I'm glad to see you!" he said quickly, jamming his wand through a loop in his trousers and making to hug her. Tempest stifled a sneeze at the dust that rushed up her nose as he stepped closer, and Sirius leant back immediately. "Merlin- sorry- I was cleaning up a bit- I er… as you can see-" he waved a hand about, and his fingers caught in a cobweb suspended from the dusty chandelier that hung too low above them. Sirius cursed and wiped his fingers off on his trousers. "I need to fix that," he muttered.

He was not, Tempest realized, irritated or annoyed at her sudden appearance, he was _flustered._

"This place has been sitting empty since my mother died," Sirius was saying, "that would be, uh, about ten years ago… I thought I'd tidy it up a bit, but-"

"It's fine," interrupted Tempest, and stepped over to hug Sirius in turn, uncaring of the layer of dust that clung to her when they broke apart. "It's a bit grim, I'll grant you-" Tempest had just noticed what appeared to be stuffed elf heads mounted along the walls of the stairs at the end of the hall. "But you're here, and now I am, and really, that was the whole point." She hefted Nyx's carrier.

"This is Nyx, by the way, I'm not sure if she's met you as a human-"

"Just the once," said Sirius, peering at Nyx through the carrier bars. "I talked with the orange cat- Crookshanks- far more… I think Nyx was a bit cautious. Ah… I wouldn't let her out just yet, the house isn't _safe,_ strictly speaking."

Strictly speaking, the house seemed barely habitable, the way Sirius went on about it. 12 Grimmauld Place, as she learnt, was the Black ancestral home, the home that Sirius had left when he was sixteen, when he had been disowned by his family and taken in by her own grandparents. The Blacks, pureblood as they came, had left many… precautionary safeguards against the impure of blood, should they enter the house.

The spells were so serious that Sirius had to go first into every room as he led her on a tour. With every new section of the house, Sirius had to dismantle some of the curses that hung in the air like oppressive webs. Tempest had been unaffected so far, perhaps because of her half-blood status, but Sirius remained paranoid. Sirius had brought Buckbeak to Grimmauld Place as well, and Tempest greeted him in the massive cobweb filled dining room on the first floor.

After the spells came the actual state of the house, buried between layers of dust and decay. The gas lamps were dim and flickering, and spiders scuttled away from her boots as she walked through rooms. She could see floorboards beneath the patches worn in the carpet, and the floor creaked at her step.

All of this was without mentioning the distinctly creepy aspects of the house, which included but were not limited to- the stuffed elf heads, the portraits of haughty Black ancestors that hung on the walls and were impossible to remove, items of furniture that appeared to have been crafted from the carcasses of magical creatures, and to cap it all off, _Kreacher._

Kreacher was the house elf that shuffled through a doorway near Tempest and almost gave her heart failure.

She hadn't been aware there had been another living being in the house with them, and the appearance of the old, withered house elf made her yell loudly for Sirius and keep her wand trained on the creature.

Sirius crashed into the room not a second later, quite literally, as the door flew open and banged against the wall, so loud in the stillness of the house that downstairs, Tempest heard several portraits scream into life, shouting and yelling so loudly Tempest couldn't distinguish the voices from one another, only a general sense of intense vitriol.

"You all right?" said Sirius loudly, looking wildly between Tempest and the house elf.

"I panicked!" shouted Tempest over the din, "over reacted- look, what's happening downstairs?"

"My deceased relatives are a bit opinionated!" yelled Sirius in reply, and he ducked back out of the room quickly to yell several silencing and muffling charms that cut the din off abruptly. He returned to look down at the house elf with a sneer on his face. "So you're still here, muttering about. I thought you'd curled up and died somewhere."

The house elf bowed, but not deeply and not at all respectfully. His eyes gleamed with distaste as he straightened up. "I live to serve the house of Black- besmirched as it is by blood traitor filth-"

"Kreacher," announced Sirius, talking over the elf as he continued to insult Sirius, "the family house elf. He must have stayed even after my mother's death."

"-Mistress Black was a kind mistress yes, unforgiving of blood traitors and scum, scum that her ungrateful son sees fit to bring into this hallowed house-"

"Charmed," said Tempest, frowning at the elf. She wouldn't have believed that a house in such a state as 12 Grimmuald Place could possibly have an elf within it- and Kreacher was speaking with an irreverence which Tempest hadn't thought house-elves could possesses.

"Well as you're here, Kreacher," Sirius was saying, "go clean up the kitchen, and get rid of this dust hanging around. It's filthy, what have you been doing for ten years?" He spoke before Kreacher could reply; "doubtless moping about the old hag's portrait listening to whatever slime she's been telling you and little else- well? Off you go- "

He all but shunted Kreacher out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

Tempest coughed at the plume of dust that rose into the air and she stared at the door. "Weren't you a bit harsh with him?" she said, "as you say, he has been in this house for ten years, surrounded by the stuffed heads of his predecessors, that can't be easy-"

"Those stuffed heads of his kin are what he aspires to achieve in his life," said Sirius dismissively, setting about vanishing the dust from the room, "perhaps I should do him a favour and mount his head on the wall a tad early…"

" _Sirius!_ " Tempest glared at him half-heartedly. She slipped her wand back into its holster. "He's not dangerous? Is he? If I had to use magic… the trace… it wouldn't apply to me here, would it?"

"Use all the magic you like," said Sirius, "just don't bring the house down around your ears… or do. It might be an improvement. As for Kreacher… I'd have to give him some commands to make sure he doesn't interfere with you, but after that he'll be fine. He's more distasteful than anything else…" The sneer lingered on Sirius's features. It was an ugly look, and he changed the subject quickly. "Here, this cupboard-" he indicated the heavy oak item against the wall, "stuff like this you might want to be careful opening- a house with this much dark magic floating around is a magnet for all sorts of dark creatures. There are doxies in the curtains of one of the upstairs living rooms I _know._ "

Tempest re-gripped her wand and looked at the cupboard, which had become very ominous. "So what's in this?"

"No idea," said Sirius, he pointed his wand at the doors. " _Alohamora!_ "

The cupboard doors and drawers all flew open. In it, were piles of folded linen and dull silverware.

Tempest lowered her wand. "Come on," she said to Sirius, "let's duel with the dust bunnies."

Duel they did; though it was a significantly unheroic battle, which left the pair of them covered in dust and cobwebs. Still, they achieved some success, the gas lamps worked well enough after a bit of cleaning, and the pipes were in fine working order when they braved the bathroom. Beneath the layers of grime and disuse, the house emerged to be a fine one; far nicer than the Dursley's had ever been, and with enough silverware and odd treasures in cupboards and drawers to rival what Tempest imagined Malfoy lived with.

It was well past nightfall when Tempest and Sirius had finished exhausting themselves, and succumbed to hunger and the ache in their arms that came from excessive wand waving and the occasional need to physically shift furniture.

Sirius said he wouldn't trust the contents of the kitchen, not if he was in inch away from starvation, so the pair of them ventured out onto the dark streets of London, Sirius wearing a new disguise spelled onto his body, which made him an inch shorter, his hair transfigured auburn and much shorter, a thinner nose, and square jaw. Tempest thought his voice coming from a stranger's mouth sounded frankly ridiculous, but to join in on the fun, she turned her hair a dirty blonde colour. It was enough that she wouldn't be recognized at a first glance, and with it being central London, it was probably for the best.

Most of Tempest's time in London had been centered around Diagon Alley and Kings Cross, and the sleepier nature of Islington had her walking beside Sirius at a sedate pace, striding through pools of light cast by streetlamps and shadows by trees and postboxes. The occasional car would purr by the pair of them as they chatted. After a term at Hogwarts, it was always a bit jarring to be reintroduced to the muggle world, with their cars and electric lights…

Minnie's cottage and Grimmauld Place couldn't be called muggle in any sense of the word, the candles, gas and oil lamps that spread flickering light were far removed from the steady fluorescent glare coming from the ceiling of the chippy they walked into.

There was quite a line, and Tempest looked at Sirius.

"You do have some muggle money on you, right?"

They had to walk back to Grimmauld Place so Tempest could fetch her wallet, and they left the brownstone again, laughing.

"We should pay a visit to Gringotts tomorrow," said Sirius, "how's your emergency stash doing?"

"Not too badly," said Tempest, "but it would be good to shore up the resources. I'm living with a convicted mass-murderer after all. You never know, we might have to scarper at a moment's notice."

"We?"

Tempest gave Sirius a concerned look. "Well, yes. You're not thinking of leaving me behind, are you?"

"It's just… its rough going," Sirius said slowly. "I'd never want that for you."

"And I wish you'd never had to do it either," said Tempest dryly, "but if it has to happen, it's better with two. " She changed topics abruptly. "We should also come up with some fake names as well if we're going to be in disguise."

"Lord Charles Eastermont," said Sirius immediately.

Tempest laughed out loud. "Put much thought into it?"

"My brother and I used to play lords," shrugged Sirius, "Lord Eastermont rode a dragon into battle, and had a moat."

"Your brother..."

"Reg," said Sirius, "he's dead. Died the same year my father did, right when the war was starting. He was a death eater."

"I'm sorry," said Tempest quietly.

"Ah well," sighed Sirius, his resignation only slightly too rehearsed.

They walked in a heavy silence for a while, until Tempest added, "I'd be Constance Potts, Lord Charles Eastermont's niece. As a child, my hobbies included horse riding and pranking the butler."

"Inspired," grinned Sirius.

"Oh, and I am an actual dragon rider," added Tempest, "I'm sure Constance's dear uncle harbors some buried resentment over that."

"Not that buried," snarked Sirius.

They ordered fish and chips and while they stood waiting, they people-watched pedistrians. There was a homeless man with a puppy in his bag, a self-important businessman who strode by purposefully, a street-walker and a group of chavs who stood on the other side of the road, hooting at the former.

Order done, they walked back to Grimmauld Place, holding the burning parcels close to their chests to ward off the chill of the night that had begun to set in. They ate in the dining room, spreading out the greasy papers on the rich table (" _three hundred years old, if you believe my mother_ ," said Sirius.) and digging into the chips with their fingers.

For a long time, there was nothing but the sound of rustling paper and enthusiastic chewing, along with quiet exclamations of pain when the heat of the food burnt their mouths.

"I haven't had decent chips in an age," said Sirius eventually, squeezing lemon over his fish and licking the juice from his fingers.

"Neither," said Tempest, polishing off the rest of her chips. "There's a great shop up in Crovie, where Minnie lives. Narrow opening hours, but worth it." She cleared her throat, choking slightly on an especially salt and vinegar doused chip. "When I go to pick up my stuff, you should come. I'll show you my favorite swimming spots- we'll make a day of it."

"Sounds good," said Sirius, "about that… Minnie does know you're here, doesn't she? That you're not abducted or lost in the space between spaces?"

Tempest laughed, "Yeah, I sent her a note with the portkey I was meant to take to her place. I'm sure she's relieved to have me out of her hair… I realize now you have no idea what I'm like to live with. If Minnie was writing me a reference- be assured she wouldn't be writing me one."

Sirius looked utterly unfazed. "We've both survived our uncommonly shitty lives so far," he said. "I'm sure we'll manage this."

That night, Tempest lay on her back on a sofa-transfigured-mattress, surrounded by cushions-transfigured-pillows and looking up at the dim ceiling of the living room. A short distance away, she could hear Sirius's rumbling snores. Initially, Tempest had been tempted to get up and nudge him over onto his side, but after a while, Tempest grew used to the sound.

There were strange mutterings that she could hear from the portraits in the hallway beyond, and further than that, Tempest thought she could hear Kreacher moving about in the kitchen. The bedrooms weren't cleared yet, so there they were, on the floor in the space in front of the gutted fireplace.

Tempest was wearing her old nightclothes from her trunk, and Nyx was snoozing in a nest of blankets Tempest had made for her.

It wasn't ideal; dinner sat greasy and heavy in her stomach, the house-elf hated her, and the very house was filled with dark magic. But as Tempest shifted around to find a comfortable spot on her mattress, the sound of Sirius's snoring a constant sound in the background, she found herself content.


	2. Expectations

**_Chapter Two-_**

Minerva had been prepping the potatoes for Tempest's favourite roast when the buzz of the wards alerted her to the Portkey's arrival. She had slid the tray into the oven and was just clearing the counter when she realised Tempest still hadn't come into the kitchen.

"Tempest?" called Minerva. There was no reply.

She had assumed that Tempest had gone to wash up, but usually straight after she came into the kitchen, sniffing around for food.

Minerva wandered out into the living room, worry starting to creep up in her chest when she saw that it was empty. Nor were there boots sitting by the door.

"Tempest!" said Minerva more loudly, to no avail.

She noticed a small square of folded parchment on the floor in the middle of the room. Folded inside was the sickle. Minerva straightened out the parchment and read the hasty scrawl:

 _Minnie- Sorry for the short notice, don't worry about me, I'm going to stay with Sirius. Let me know what'd be a good day for me to drop by and pick up the rest of my stuff. Thank you for everything. -Tempest._

Minerva folded the parchment up again.

Suddenly, the cottage seemed very empty.

A week in, and Tempest and Sirius had cleared about half of the house out. They'd managed to move into their separate (guest) bedrooms on the third floor on the second day. Sirius wouldn't use his old room, so they chose adjacent rooms on the landing. Buckbeak was living in another room near theirs, transfigured into a leafy habitat.

It didn't take long for Tempest to realize that Sirius hated the house.

For her part, she did understand.

Sirius hated his family. It came across in every atom of his being whenever he mentioned them. He sneered at heirlooms that they found, took pleasure in throwing most of them out, and made the most of every opportunity to spit insults at the portraits and Kreacher.

Tempest understood, because she wasn't sure how she'd act if she had spent sixteen years with the Durselys, then returned to live in their house. And on balance, the Blacks were categorically worse than the Dursleys. She couldn't honestly say that she would have treated Kreacher any better than Sirius did if he had been the embodiment of everything she had hated in her childhood.

So she helped Sirius redecorate. They stripped the walls of the admittedly mold green wallpaper, stashed the removable portraits in a spare room and curtained off others. They took up the carpet and polished the floorboards. It took them two weeks, even with magic, but once they were done, Grimmauld Place was decorated in shades of purple, dark brown and silver. Sirius announced that his parents were probably turning in their graves, and he grinned.

It made the work worthwhile.

With the freedom to practice her magic as she willed, a year of Tempest's animagusing came to a head. It was at the end of the second week. They had just had dinner, and were sitting in the second-floor living room. Sirius was reading _Lord of the Rings_ at Tempest's recommendation, and she was cross-legged on the floor, meditating.

It was different, doing it at Grimmauld Place. At Hogwarts, Tempest had accustomed herself to other students' residual magic and the ancient _presence_ of Hogwarts itself around her. In the brownstone, Tempest could feel her and Sirius' magic, heavy in the air, undercut by the lingering strains of dark magic that had been worked into the very foundations of the house generation after generation.

They weren't all bad, Sirius had said, with an expression that spoke of how it pained him to admit it. His father had placed every protection known to wizardkind on the house, and made it unplottable to boot. Tempest found it reassuring.

So Tempest sat, dancing along the edge of her mind between what she was, and where the land of burning light lay. It had become less and less of a struggle to reach that point as time went on, and less of a battle to remain there. Tempest wasn't fighting to keep her position… she just… _was._

And then her eyes flew open.

Nyx's fur stood on end and she hissed loudly.

Sirius looked up and fell off the sofa.

And Tempest, now _Buck_ stood on all fours, scenting the air.

Interesting. There were hints of an artificial fragrance in the air. It was coating her, she realized, the smell of her hair product from her shower. She sniffed her way over to Sirius, who now sat on the floor and extended a hand toward Buck.

"Merlin, Tempest, well done!" said Sirius, an awed expression on his face. He sounded louder than normal, and Buck noticed her hearing had amplified massively. She could hear Buckbeak two floors up, crunching through the bones of his last meal… she could hear cars on the street outside, Kreacher's heartbeat in the pantry…

Sirius looked right chuffed- she was probably some kind of dog, he looked so delighted, "You are _magnificent_ \- you need to see this-" and then he was on his feet- and he stood far taller than Buck did now. Her head only just came up to mid-thigh.

Buck followed him out of the living room and up the stairs. She bounded up them easily, her four legs moving smoothly as though she had been walking on them for a lifetime.

They ended up in the largest bathroom in the house, the one with a floor length mirror. Buck trotted right up to the glass to examine herself. First off, she wasn't a dog. The shape of the paws, the muzzle, shoulders and the build were all wrong. She was a wolf. Not as large as Padfoot, but no small size either.

Her fur was stunning, and Buck preened, turning in circles to inspect the play of light over the silver and grey. Colours were different too, Buck noticed idly. It was as though the colors had flattened out, and darker colors appeared much lighter. She wondered what her night vision would be like. Buck's mouth fell open into a grin, and she laughed at herself, fangs jutting out from her jaws. Her silver eyes gleamed.

"I think you're a timber wolf," said Sirius, "this is brilliant, two wolves in the Marauders now- we're the all canine edition. Do you think you can manage turning back?"

Buck blinked at herself. Could she? Everything seemed different; the very shape of her mind seemed distinct from Tempest's. She shut her eyes and nudged around for the hint of humanity.

Eventually, Sirius had to turn her back into a human, but Tempest, not at all disheartened, leapt up onto her two legs, beaming with achievement.

The feeling of elation followed Tempest for the next few days. She'd managed to shift into Buck three times since, and on the last try, she'd managed to shift back into human form voluntarily. Sirius had sent a message to Remus to come and celebrate, and the three had a good night, chatting and reminiscing over takeaway.

"So why ' _Tempestas_?'" asked Tempest over folded out cartons of chicken and rice, "It's hardly your run of the mill name."

Sirius laughed, "the other options were so tame too," he poked at his food with the chopsticks, spearing vegetables as he went. "Harry and Michael were on the table if you were a boy, but Lily seemed dead set on a wind spell for a girl. I think James was fond of 'Erin' for a while, but then you were born and the set of lungs on you… you had to be a Tempest. Still, James could never let your mum be right any time of the day, so he started calling you Temper."

There was something in Sirius's voice that made Tempest look at him speculatively. "And what did you call me?"

Sirius looked decidedly shifty. He took a too-large bite of pork and mumbled around it. Remus interpreted for him. "He called you pest."

Tempest laughed in indignant delight. "How dare you! I will have you know it's physically impossible for me to be anything other than utterly agreeable."

"You ran around tugging on my tail," accused Sirius, "and insisted on calling me 'foo.'"

"I can't account for that," protested Tempest.

"I was 'moo,'" added Remus. "James loved it- he had you pegged as a terror right from the start."

Sirius was nodding, "I swear, if we didn't adore you, we'd have you left in a skip somewhere. Lily might not even have protested that much-"

Remus looked scandalized, but he conceded, "she was pretty tired."

"D'you remember the day they found out they were pregnant?" said Sirius, "I could barely understand James he was talking so fast when he popped out of the fire."

"He was terrified," said Remus, "ah-"

"Oh go on," said Tempest, sneaking a sip of Sirius' firewhiskey, "I knew I had to be an accident- what sort of idiot plans for a kid in the middle of a war?"

"Less an accident, more a surprise," reassured Remus, then plucked the glass from Tempest's hand. "No more of that- Sirius, be more responsible, she's living with you."

Tempest waggled her eyebrows at Sirius, "do be more responsible, we're going running with Moony next full moon, aren't we?"

Sirius grabbed Remus' glass and toasted her. "That we are. Pest."

Remus stayed the night, and it only occurred to Tempest when he left at noon the next day.

It had been a Thursday.

"Yeah," said Sirius, when Tempest asked him a quiet question. "It's always been a struggle for him to find work. Fucking Ministry isn't making it easier either, they're pushing for new laws which will make it even harder."

"I hate Snape," said Tempest, looking darkly into the unlit fireplace. They were seated in the living room. At some point they'd have to decide if they wanted takeout again or to risk Kreacher's cooking. "If he hadn't lost Remus's job, he could've still been at Hogwarts…"

Sirius sighed tiredly. "Merlin knows I hate Snape, and yes, it is his fucking fault, but after a certain point the blame doesn't belong to him. It's rooted in this system. You know Arthur Weasley?" Tempest nodded. "I'd bet this house the reason he's never been promoted is his open fascination with muggles. It's like that all over the place. It's the system, it's the fucking _society._ "

That night, sometime past one, Tempest woke.

It was an odd sound that had woken her, and she lay in the darkness for a while, listening. It was Sirius, she realized. Through their shared wall, she could hear him tossing and turning. She could hear him muttering to himself too, a pained and desperate sound.

Tempest wasn't given time to decide whether she should go over and wake him. She heard Sirius jolt awake with a curse. Silence stretched for such a long time that Tempest almost fell asleep again when she heard the sound of floorboards creaking, and Sirius' door opened and closed. He had gone downstairs.

In the morning, Tempest could smell whiskey on his breath.

She said nothing. It wasn't the first time.

"You're insane," informed Sirius at breakfast one morning.

Tempest had just entered the dining room. Sirius was already halfway done with his toast, barely looking up from the copy of the Daily Prophet he had balanced against the teapot before him.

"We knew that," said Tempest dryly, shifting the newspaper to lean against the vase of orchids and extracting the pot.

"No, no, _here,_ " said Sirius, finally looking up. He folded the paper over and slammed it down, so that Tempest was looking at a picture of herself. It was headed:

' ** _The Girl Who Lived- Cracked at Last?_** '

 _Disturbing rumors have recently come to light about Tempestas 'Tempest' Potter. One of the most famous tragic survivors of the Second Wizarding War, her parents James and Lily Potter were killed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Raised by her muggle relatives- a questionable judgment- Miss Potter attends Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and though attending through rather turbulent years, appeared to be quiet and well adjusted. However over the previous year, concerning reports have risen._

 _Miss Potter is a Parselmouth and is thought to have played a hand in the demise of the late Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Quirrell. She is suspected of abetting in the escape of mass murderer Sirius Orion Black, and under the stress of the Triwizard Tournament- to which she claims to have been unknowingly entered into by the late Bartemius Crouch Jr (revealed to have escaped from Azkaban with the help of his late father, Bartemius Crouch Sr) – has been reported to faint during classes. She has also been closely associated with the mysterious circumstances of Mr Cedric Diggory's death in the same tournament. These incidents are only a few of the many that circulate Miss Potter's now questionable actions in the Wizarding Community._

 _While we have been unable to reach Miss Potter for comment, perhaps it is not so surprising that such a young girl has become unhinged after the trauma of her childhood._

 _Head Healer Helanora Rosalind at St Mungo's comments; "A situation such as Miss Potter's is rare, but not unheard of. In cases such as hers, she herself may not be aware of her concerning behavior, and potentially dangerous tendencies that may develop further into the future-" cont. Pg5.'_

Tempest dropped the paper, not bothering to turn over to 'Pg5.' She glanced briefly at the credit and sighed. She looked over at Sirius and sank down into her own chair, adjacent. "I'm sick of having to care about this," she said.

Sirius plucked the teapot from of Tempest's loose fingers and poured a cup for her. "And you shouldn't have to," he said quietly. There was a brief pause. "I got my old motorbike back from Hagrid," he said, "want to help me fix it up?"

The tea had already cooled enough for Tempest to finish it in several gulps. She slammed it down and stood. "Yeah, come on, where is it? Let's go."

 ** _Severus Snape._**

Severus glared at the offending piece of parchment before him.

 _Dumbledore is calling for an Order meeting at the new headquarters, Saturday 8pm. Let him know if you can't make it. For your eyes only, see attached address._

On a separate piece of parchment that hummed with magic, there was neatly printed: _12 Grimmauld Place._ Severus ran a finger over the ink. There was likely a curse attached to the address to protect from unwelcome eyes. It was a powerful bit of magic, and he found himself impressed against his will.

Barely a second later, the parchment burst into flames, making him curse and drop the flaming letter on his desk.

The letter was unsigned, but Severus had spent four years marking assignments done in the same scrawling font, grudgingly acknowledging that the girl did exceptionally well. "Your fourteen year old daughter has joined the Order of the Phoenix," Severus informed Lily.

Lily sat in a field of glass, preserved behind glass and encased in a small wooden frame on Severus' desk. She was making chains with a much younger Severus, who plucked daisies for her and lived for her smile.

"If I didn't already know the result, I'd be confronting Dumbledore this moment. He'd probably call me 'his dear boy' ramble on about Tempest's so-called maturity and then offer me some sort of muggle sweet."

Lily continued to thread daisy heads through split stems, her hair wafting around her face in the wind. "Not to mention the fact that she is now living with Black-" Dumbledore had told him absentmindedly, like an afterthought, as though it shouldn't matter to Severus. And it shouldn't. "-a man you once said you wouldn't trust with a flobberworm. Now your own child."

But then, Lily had said a lot of things once.

"And made secret keeper," he snorted, "the only reason she'd be writing the summons- Lily, a teenage girl. At least you were of age when you joined the Order."

 _Tempestas_ Potter. The name grated at Severus. Lily had named her for the first spell she had ever learnt. The first spell Severus had shown her. She had written to tell him: the name of her child as a peace offering. It had made him feel nauseous instead.

"You would think that after escaping from death so many times, she would have some sense of self preservation, but this puts her in more danger than ever." Lily wasn't looking at him. She was there, trapped in one moment in time, and Severus felt a flash of anger. "She's insufferable, reckless, scruffy and so much like Potter, I can barely stand to look at her."

There was no response, because there _couldn't_ be a response.

Severus stood abruptly, brushing the charred remains of the letter off him and refusing to look at the picture again. A glance at the clock told him that he had fifteen minutes till eight. He twisted on the spot to apparate, away from his childhood home, a house that would never again hear the hushed whispers of two children, sneaking out for adventures at night.

He reappeared on the top step of 12 Grimmauld Place.

He knocked, and looked up at the façade of the brownstone. It was much larger on the inside he knew. The Blacks had dabbed in undetectable extension charms so much, Severus doubted any of the exterior windows matched the rooms inside. It was not the first time he had visited the Black residence. Regulus Black had invited him over once or twice. He remembered Black's parents as proper, but cold and politely disdainful. He was only a half-blood after all.

Footsteps sounded behind the door, and it swung open, revealing Minerva.

"Severus!" she said. She even managed to sound genuinely pleased. "You are early."

"As are you," said Severus smoothly, "is Dumbledore here yet?"

"No," said Minerva as she turned and led him into the house. "Remus was already here when I arrived, and you are the first since. Black was getting drinks from the kitchen, though I think he should be done by now- and Tempest was showing me around the house. I imagine she's joined the others now."

Severus struggled to repress a sneer. He was soon to be in a room with Potter, Black and Lupin again. Each time he thought he would never have to suffer their combined presences again, the world worked against him. "And what do you think of Miss Potter's introduction into the Order?"

Minerva sighed tiredly. "I'm not best pleased," she said, her lips pressed into a thin line, "but she has more of a right than anyone else to know about what measures are being taken against You-Know-Who."

"I only worry," said Severus delicately, knowing Minerva had always been rather fondof Potter, "that she may not appreciate the magnitude… or _understand_ , the intricacies of Order work."

Minerva stopped in the middle of the stairwell, where oddly enough, the stuffed elf-heads were all wearing sunglasses. She looked at Severus very seriously, and once again, more often than he would like it to happen, he felt like nothing more than an impudent student beneath her gaze.

"You were with us the night of the third task when we found her at the Hogs Head," she said quietly. "You saw her then- and you know what she's faced over the years."

"It does not take away the fact that she is a _teenager_ ," said Snape impatiently, "and she seemed to recover quickly enough, truth be told-"

Minerva's eyes flashed dangerously. "Severus, I am attempting to remain cordial, but have you considered the girl doesn't wear every emotion on her sleeve? Tempest lived with me for four years and she barely opens up to _me_."

Minerva shut her mouth then, as though she had said too much.

"I thought Potter had been sent to live with her relatives," said Severus slowly.

Minerva gritted her teeth, looking frustrated. At him or herself, he could not tell. "She had been. There were… issues. Few knew she was living with me. It doesn't matter now. She lives with Black. The point is, Severus," she said with finality, "Tempest is a part of the order. Whether you approve or not is immaterial."

And this time, Severus kept his mouth wisely closed.

The meeting went better than Severus had thought. The initial greeting passed quickly enough; Potter, Black and Lupin had been laughing together over something when Severus entered the room, laughter that quickly died out. Lupin had crossed the room to greet him- typical of the wolf to bare his neck first, while Black had nodded curtly at him. Neither called him _Snivellus,_ which was promising, he supposed. Potter said, "Professor," and did not look at him again.

Severus kept to the far side of the room and nursed a drink that Minerva offered him. He held it and did not drink as he spoke to Minerva about harmless, rather trite curriculum changes at Hogwarts. He would not say so, but he appreciated her remaining with him.

Other Order members began arriving shortly after. The mood in the room relaxed with seven or eight more members; Elphias Doge, Emmeline Vance, Mundungus Fletcher, Nymphadora Tonks, Alastor Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Arthur and Molly Weasley crowded about the large room. When the rest of the remaining Order had arrived, Dumbledore walked to the front of the room, and silence fell.

"Thank you for coming," he said, looking about at them all. "We are gathered here, I regret to say, because Lord Voldemort has returned. The Minister of Magic, as you know, is denying this fact, therefore we must take matters into our own hands. There are already plans I have set in motion: Severus has returned to his position as our spy in Voldemort's ranks-"

Severus steadfastly ignored the eyes of the room.

Dumbledore continued, "Hagrid, along with Madam Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy have travelled to treat with the giants on our behalf. Those of you within the Ministry have been keeping an eye on the Department of Mysteries. Sirius has kindly offered to make Grimmauld Place Order headquarters. Now to today's business. To start with, I am sure we have all noticed Tempest has joined us."

Potter straightened where she stood beside Black. She looked slightly defensive; perhaps she too was aware of how out of place she was.

"To any who may object to her presence due to her age," here Dumbledore's eyes passed by Severus, and he sneered. Dumbledore went on. "She was present the night Voldemort returned, and she has as much cause as any one of us to be here."

To Potter's credit, she wasn't an obtrusive presence during the Order meeting. When she was called by Dumbledore to recount what the Dark Lord had divulged the night he returned, she delivered a short and clearly rehearsed summary without any frills or flair. Afterward, she hadn't said another word, and the next time Severus had noticed her was when he felt her eyes on him as he gave his account of what had happened when he returned to the Dark Lord's side.

When he looked at her, her jaw had been clenched and her eyes bright.

For when Minerva had said that Potter didn't wear her emotions on her sleeve, Severus had scoffed inwardly. The girl may as well have projected her every feeling onto a billboard: she was atrocious at hiding or disguising her happiness, anger or distain for anything. And Severus had never once seen her _sad_ or reflective. But then he thought traitorously of Lily, and how she'd never been able to hide her flaming temper, but in the decade he'd known her, he'd never seen her cry once.

The more you knew.

 ** _Tempest Potter_**

"The meeting went well, right?" said Tempest after the Order members had left. "It was great to meet others working against Voldemort, and Tonks is awesome. Fletcher… less so. Still, it's reassuring there's actually stuff happening- out there, in the world."

"Yeah, promising," said Sirius. He was putting on a lighthearted façade that had sprung up the moment that Dumbledore asked him to remain inside Grimmauld Place for the foreseeable future. "How'd you take Hagrid going off to the giants?"

Tempest sighed, watching Kreacher slouch about the room magicing the table and settings back into place. "I hope to Merlin he'll be all right," she said, "but about what they're guarding in the Department of Mysteries- what is it?"

Sirius frowned, "no idea. I'll ask Remus, but it sounds like only the Ministry people know. Dumbledore likes to keep his cards close to his chest. You did really well by the way. We all now know the body of who's returned to Voldemort's side."

They left Kreacher to it and went over to the room they had transformed into a workshop for Sirius's bike. "At least we don't need to account for Karkaroff," said Tempest, sitting down beside the bike and grabbing a rag, "small consolations… Did you know that Snape was a double agent? Back then?"

Sirius shook his head. He began sorting through the tools he had scattered about the room. There was a speculative look on his face. "I would have sworn he was a fully loyal Death Eater till Voldemort's defeat. I don't know when he switched allegiances, but… Dumbledore trusts him. I suppose that'll have to be enough."

"If you don't trust him though," Tempest said slowly, "he's allowed in your- in _our_ house…" Sirius wore a pained grimace. "Of course, everything as Dumbledore says, he knows best after all…" She began to oil up parts of the engine that Sirius had deconstructed the other day. "You know the first lesson I ever had with Snape, he was just as antagonistic."

Sirius perked up, "do tell."

Tempest settled back down, "So he comes in and slams the door behind him, strides up to the front of the room with his robes swirling dramatically, then he starts with this speech which, by the way, must have taken him _ages_ to memorize… then he rounds on me and starts grilling first year me on all this obscure potion stuff-"

"Typical," snorted Sirius, "you'd think he'd let the past go-"

"Has anyone though?" chuckled Tempest, "so he asks me about what adding the powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood would make, which I actually knew because Minnie had forced me to skim some of my books, so I wasn't _completely_ humiliated… It makes the Draught of Living Death, as you know," here she grinned at Sirius, who rolled his eyes. He had dropped Potions in his sixth year. "But then of course Snape skipped straight to another question, this time about bezoars, which I didn't know much about, except for some reason I thought it might have something to do with farm animals, so I said the immortal line: '… _something to do with sheep?_ '"

Sirius dropped the wrench he was holding and choked with laughter. Tempest had to lunge to catch it before it could fall into the open can of paint.

"It was _goats_ actually, but I didn't even get points for being close."

Sirius wiped tears of laughter from his eyes and after composing himself, set about loosening the rearguard of the bike. "He took points from Gryffindor, didn't he?"

"Five," nodded Tempest, "the next question we got docked twenty because he asked about two plants that were actually the same I think, but I ended up saying something stupid like, ' _they're spelt differently._ '"

Sirius barked a laugh, "twenty five points gone in one lesson, not bad, not bad… James and I managed to lose fifty on our first day in fifth year- we spiked the food for the Great Feast with a weightless potion. Sent all the students floating near the roof of the hall for about ten minutes before Flitwick could get them all down."

Tempest gapped at him. " _No._ Really? That's fucking genius!"

He smirked, "it was worth the month of detentions we got."

"Well Ron and I lost fifty in second year," said Tempest, determined to one-up Sirius, "we drove an invisible car to Hogwarts and we almost uprooted the Whomping Willow by crashing into it. Snape was ecstatic; said we were bound to be expelled. Looked livid the next day when we weren't…" She finished greasing the last gear, then set about wiping off the excess oil so it wouldn't collect. "Hey, Pads, why did Snape hate you lot so much? It's almost impressive, transcending time, a generation and _death_. I know I'm not a model student, but it hasto be more than that."

"Don't ask me to psychoanalyze Snape," said Sirius, "I know why he hated _us_ the Marauders- we did our best to make his life hell most of the time. Not sure why he would carry that on to you- you look far less like James now that you used to-"

"I do?"

"Far better looking than James ever was," Sirius said easily. "You're your own person, Tempest. I do regret what we did to Snape though," he added almost absentmindedly, "Hogwarts got me away from this place, and looking back, I'm pretty sure Snape's home life was shit too. We didn't make Hogwarts much easier for him." He paused thoughtfully. "Doesn't give him a cause to be such a bastard to you though."

"Ah well," said Tempest. "It's just him for one class."

They continued on peacefully for a while, only the occasional murmur to pass a particular tool or to shift over a smidgeon.

Eventually, Sirius said, "as far as Snape is concerned, just before, I never said a thing about regret."

Tempest blinked. "Of course not. Didn't hear a word of regret. The idea is unspeakable. Ah, I'm done with this though, and we are well past dinner-" she shot a glance at the clock on the wall and stood, wiping her hands clean on an even filthier rag. "Or it's almost eleven, and dinner's a forgotten concept at this point. Kreacher or takeout?"

Sirius had been ordered to stay in the house, and they made their takeout orders from the phone box down the street. Tempest paused, waiting for his decision.

"Do you feel like Chinese?"

And Tempest grinned. "Nothing better. I'll get the menu, see you by the door."

For her fifteenth, Tempest had Ron, the twins and Hermione over, and they spent the day out in muggle London, laughing at parking meters and walking between tourist spots. They returned to Gimmauld Place in the afternoon and sprawled out in one of the drawing rooms.

"So this place is the Order's headquarters," said Hermione in awe, looking around the room as though it held all the secrets of the Order. "It's fascinating, what wards do you have around this place?"

"A lot," filled in Tempest. She passed bottles of butterbeer around and settled down on the arm of the sofa George was lying on. "Meetings aren't in this room by the way- they happen in the dining hall, or the kitchen sometimes if we're looking at documents…"

"Wicked," said George, taking a swig of butterbeer, "what do they talk about?"

Tempest grimaced, "can't say."

"Go on," nudged Ron, drawing closer conspiratorially.

"She can't tell you, Ron!" said Hermione, her eyebrows drawing into a frown. "We're not in the Order, and you're under some oath that means you can't talk about this stuff, right, Tempest?"

Tempest winced, "that would be a very good idea that Dumbledore should probably invest in, but no actually. We're only bound by word. I think it was some Dumbledore logic that he trusts us so implicitly, he'd sooner have our loyalty from heart than from oath."

"The stakes are so high though," said Hermione concernedly.

"Yeah," replied Tempest. "It's Dumbledore's decision though. Honestly, it's important, but it's not all that interesting. Usually it's just talking about the Ministry, safe houses they have set up around the place…"

"What's You-Know-Who doing then?" asked Fred, "do you know?"

"No one's seen him," said Tempest, "but Dumbledore speculates he's lying low for a while and just recruiting… finding the people and creatures that supported him last time he was in power."

After a pause, Fred got up and wandered around the room. "What's this?" he asked to lighten the mood, and plucked a heavy gold ring off the sideboard.

Tempest leaned over to get a good look. It was a signet ring, with a familiar crest stamped on it. "I think it might be Sirius's dad's ring. It's technically Sirius's now, but he won't wear it." She frowned. "Actually I thought he'd thrown it out. Kreacher probably snuck it back in, he hates that we're chucking heirlooms. What else is in there?"

Fred began pulling out drawers. He tossed a large shining locket Tempest's way, along with several other shiny, jeweled objects.

"Sirius will be pissed," said Tempest, snagging them from the air, "although, as long as Kreacher doesn't start saving Madam Black's underwear, I suppose it's fine to let him stock up on the jewels." She looked down at the emeralds embedded into the surface of the locket, then tossed it back to Fred. "You do have to hand it to Kreacher though, he does know which pieces to save… So, boys- how's the family? Bill, Charlie? Percy? He cleared from investigation?"

At the sound of Percy's name, all the Weasleys present groaned.

"Fucking Percy," muttered Fred throwing himself back down into his seat, while Ron glowered at the wall opposite him.

"Percy left," George explained. "Packed up and left. If you see our parents around, don't mention him in front of them."

"There was a whole investigation of Crouch a week after term ended." Ron said, picking at a loose thread on his shirt. "None of us said, but we thought it'd be a sure thing that Percy would be fired. The Ministry said he should have known that Crouch was off his rocker. But Percy came home one day and said he'd been promoted."

" _Promoted_?"

"Yeah. He thought dad would be happy, only he wasn't. Said that Fudge had only promoted Percy because he knew that he- dad- was close to Dumbledore and that he- Fudge- wanted a spy. Percy didn't take it well- went berserk. Said loads of terrible stuff. Said he's been having to struggle against dad's lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and that dad's got no ambition and that's why we've always been –you know- not had a lot of money, I mean-"

" _What?_ " spluttered Tempest.

"It got worse," continued Fred for Ron, who was going red in the face. "They had a massive row- dad was yelling, and that was a shock as it's usually mum who yells, but Percy said dad was an idiot to run around with Dumbledore, that Dumbledore was heading for big trouble and dad was going to go down with him, and that he –Percy the prat- knew where his loyalty lay and it was with the Ministry. And if mum and dad were going to become traitors to the Ministry he was going to make sure everyone knew he didn't belong to our family anymore. And he packed his bags the same night and left. He's living here in London now."

"Fuck," said Tempest. She had never gotten along with Percy very well, found him a bit pompous, but this was his _family._ Tempest had always thought if she'd had a family like the Weasley's she'd have done whatever she could to keep that together.

"Mum's been in a right state," said George, "crying and stuff. She came up to London to talk to Percy but he slammed the door in her face. I dunno what he does if he meets dad at work. Ignores him, I suppose."

"Your name came up," added Ron, "when they were talking about You-Know-Who being back. He said we only had your word that he was back. And it didn't mean anything, because… well… the papers say you're-"

Tempest sighed. Wonderful. "Batshit insane. Go on."

"He said how did we all know that you hadn't offed Diggory yourself and made up You-Know-Who as an excuse."

 _Oh._

And that hurt. Because Tempest saw Hermione avert her eyes to the ground, and Ron stumble over the words. She had already heard the theory herself, but not like this. Not from people she actually _knew,_ and judging from Ron and Hermione's faces, she knew they might hate themselves for thinking it, but the thought must have crossed their minds.

But this wasn't about her.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "About Percy, to all of you, I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," shrugged George. "He's always been an idiot."

That night, Sirius baked Tempest a lopsided chocolate cake and they sat eating it straight from the tin. His present to her was his bike. He had finished repairing it, polished and buffed it, and gifted it to her as a portable keychain. Tempest would only need to tap it with her wand, say: ' _Sirius is awesome,_ ' and it would expand.

"From me to you," said Sirius, "I bequeath you my legacy. Take good care of my girl."

It might have been the best birthday present Tempest had ever gotten, except she also had Sirius and a half-burnt cake.

After that day though, Tempest couldn't help thinking about the Dursleys. Not because they'd ever made her a cake, or given her a present that was more than fifty pence… but because she wondered.

It wasn't the first time that Tempest had thought of the Durselys since she had left. She cast them the occasional thought, wondered if Dudley was still fat and beating up kids for fun, wondered if Petunia still snooped after the neighbors, and if Vernon still worked for the drill company. But the musings usually stopped there, because Tempest was reminded that it didn't matter, and she didn't care.

Nothing had changed: they mattered no more than they ever had, and she had enough on her plate without her old family adding to the pile.

Which was the point.

The Dursleys _weren't_ her family in any way, except for the fact that by any other definition, they _were._ And Tempest, in a better place than she had ever been with the Dursleys, felt a morbid fascination as to what their lives were like five years on.

So Tempest told Sirius she was going to take the bike out on a drive and yelled a goodbye as she grabbed his old biking jacket. She expanded the bike on the footpath before the house, and slid her wand into her holster. A bundle of nerves was gathering in her stomach.

Surrey was about fifty kilometers away, roughly thirty minutes by air, Tempest estimated. 'Point me' with her wand had told her she was heading southwest. She swung a leg over the smooth molded leather seat of the bike and settled in. Then she flicked the invisibility switch.

Tempest had to grin as she watched her body and bike fade away. She felt across the handles of the bike easily. She had memorized the placement of the various switches and buttons on the bike, and she revved the motor, inching forwards and upwards.

Across the road, she saw a woman carrying groceries look around for the mysterious sound. Tempest opened the throttle wide, and roared up into the sky. She climbed rapidly into the clouds, where the engine and rushing wind were the only sound. It was freezing, and every part of her unprotected by Sirius' jacket turned cold and numb. Her knuckles, clenched tightly around the handles, felt like they were being sliced at by the passing air, and Tempest made a note to buy driving gloves as soon as she could.

She flew still higher, and stopped when the air began to thin. She could feel the moisture collecting in her hair, and her jeans felt damp. After twenty minutes or so, Tempest dipped beneath the clouds, relishing the sudden rush of warmer air. The view was stunning. The lights of the world shone brightly in the twilight, looking magical enough to rival anything in the Wizarding world.

When Tempest began recognizing some of the streets below, she began her descent in full. She aimed for a street that was empty of pedestrians, and landed on the sidewalk clumsily, the bike rattling to a stop.

Tempest got off, instantly becoming visible again as she lost contact with the bike. She tapped the bike with her wand and waited for it to shrink and become visible again, before tucking it into one of the many pockets in her jacket.

She had landed a couple of streets away from Privet Drive, and she made her way slowly, her feet leaden. It was fully dark now- she had left already quite late into the afternoon, and now evening had truly fallen. The streetlights were casting shadows across her path, and the houses around had light shining through their curtains.

Tempest reached Privet Drive and walked down it. The houses were identical, and evidence of the heatwave that had struck was in the front gardens. Grass was dry and browning, while flowers had shriveled and the leaves on plants looked yellowed.

And then Tempest reached the only house on the street with the sprinklers on.

The grass leading to the house was lush, and the flowers were blossoming in all their summer glory. The paint on the fence was not peeling, and light shone brightly out from the windows. Tempest could see shadows moving about behind them.

What would they be talking about, she wondered. Work? Gossip?

Tempest wondered what to do now. She straightened her jacket and dusted off her jeans. She combed her fingers through her hair and looked down to see if her boots were scuffed. They were dragonhide. There wasn't a mark on them.

Done, Tempest placed a hand on the top of the gate, ready to unlatch it.

She was a far cry from the scared and scrawny girl who used to live beyond the gate. She had grown tall and lanky without the shrunken features she used to have. Her mop of hair was long enough to tame and she was wearing clothes that actually fit. She could knock on the Dursleys' front door and there was a good chance they would not recognize her.

There was a stranger standing before the short path that led across the lawn toward the front door. The freak of Privet Drive was an entirely different person now; she had a name, a home, and a world of her own.

Tempest gripped the edge of the gate until the wood dug into her palm, hard enough to hurt, not enough to let go. She had been standing there for a few minutes now. One of the shadows behind the windows had vanished, and the other continued to move around the room. It could've been Petunia, dusting. It could've been anyone's house. Any ordinary family with their own problems and their own lives; lives that Tempest had no place in.

She could make her peace with that.

Tempest turned, and began to walk away.

She had only walked three houses away when she saw a large figure approaching, lumbering right toward her. It was an overweight teenage boy with large meaty hands hanging at his sides, and his mouth opening to speak. "You lost?" he said, narrowing his little piggy eyes at her, "you were standing outside my house."

Tempest didn't say a word, but stepped forward so that the light of the streetlamps shone clearer on her features. The moment the boy realized, it showed plainly on his face. His mouth dropped open, and he stared at Tempest.

"Freak?"

"Tempestas Potter, actually," said Tempest. "Hello, Dudley."

Dudley Dursley turned white as a sheet. "Dad- dad said you were dead."

Tempest's lips twitched slightly. "Not dead."

Dudley gapped at her. In Tempest's mind, she pictured the last Dudley she had seen: fat, stupid and gormless. She didn't know what difference she had expected. She looked up at Dudley, who didn't stand so tall any more; there was barely a centimeter's difference in their heights, and Tempest wondered how she had ever been afraid of the boy. Suddenly, Tempest felt tired, bone tired, and wanted nothing more than to leave and be done with it.

"Look, is this all?" she said.

"Are…" Dudley looked to be having trouble forming words. "Are- are you coming back?"

Tempest laughed outright. "Coming back-" she shook her head and made to walk past Dudley.

Dudley took a step after her, then stopped, unsure. "Um, goodbye."

Tempest snorted. "Yeah."

She had not made it more than a few steps away when the hot and dry air went cold. Her breath misted before her. Tempest looked up at the flickering streetlights around her.

Without meaning to, she took a step backward, back toward Dudley.

"Are you doing this?" he asked, his dull eyes widening. "You could always do weird stuff, are you doing it again?"

Then the temperature plummeted to a freezing chill and the air left Tempest's lungs, filling them instead with ice. The cold ate into her bones, freezing her insides in a way that should not have been possible while wearing Sirius's jacket. Something had happened to the night. The sky had become lightless; the streetlamps went out all together. It was as though someone had cast a thick, icy mantle over them.

"Dudley," bit out Tempest, slipping her wand from her holster while fishing for her keychain bike with the other. Number four was only a short distance away. "Dudley, run- get home, go!"

Dudley stammered, stumbled two steps backwards and fell on his arse.

"Get up!" yelled Tempest at Dudley, who scrambled up and ran along down the road. She frantically patted at her pockets- there were too many pockets, too many, and she couldn't find the bike…

She looked up wildly, and there. Not twenty metres away floated a dementor.

Tempest pointed her wand at the dementor, then swore and lowered it. It was Privet Drive. She couldn't use magic. " _Fuck!_ " And then Tempest's fingers closed around the bike and she wrenched it from her pocket, and yelled to the heavens how awesome Sirius was as the bike exploded to full size.

Tempest was on it in seconds, the invisibility on and she had taken off, was beginning to rise up into the air. It was all going to be all right, she was going to get away-

A cold, cold hand closed around her ankle, and Tempest yelled out, the bike wrenching to the side in the air and capsizing, crashing back to the ground. Tempest rolled free of it, becoming visible again, and she saw the dementor caught beneath the invisible bike, struggling free, it's hooded head curving up toward Tempest.

Tempest lunged forward, kicking it in the face. Her foot connected with something beneath the hood that seemed to both crumble and squelch. Tempest stumbled back and drew her wand. There was nothing for it.

But just as she raised her wand, a heavy despair settled upon her. Her mother was screaming in her ears, and she could hear the echoes of her father's voice in her mind. Cedric yelling out for her across a graveyard… All shrouded by death, all _grey_ corpses… what mattered in a world as empty and dark as this one?

The dementor had freed itself of the bike. It was drawing closer again, this time, Tempest knew that whatever was beneath that hood was looking directly at her, and it was drawing in a rattling breath.

Only something did matter… something… Tempest dragged her wand arm upwards, struggling against the weight of the world. She thought of the most important person in her life, and screamed: " _EXPECTO PATRONUM!_ "

The stallion burst from Tempest's wand, exploding into existence with a rush of light and warmth that flooded out in a wave. He charged at the dementor, who wailed and screamed, turning and vanishing into the night. His work done, he did not fade, instead, he ran past Tempest, back in the direction of four Privet Drive.

Heart in her mouth, Tempest ran after it.

She had barely run a dozen steps when she reached them: Dudley, curled on the ground, eyes wide and sightless; a second dementor was crouching low over him, gripping his wrists in its slimy hands, lowering its hooded head toward Dudley's face as though about to kiss him…

The stallion charged without command. The dementor's hooded face was barely an inch from Dudley's when the hooves of the stallion crashed into its side, knocking it off and throwing it backwards, up into the air where it soared away and vanished like the other. Tempest's patronus dissolved into silver mist.

Moon, stars, and streetlamps burst back into life. A warm breeze swept the alleyway. Trees rustled in neighboring gardens and the mundane rumble of cars in the distance filled the air again. Somewhere an owl hooted.

Tempest looked at Dudley, whimpering on the ground. She needed to go. She had just used underage magic in the _one_ place that she could be detected. The dementors were gone for now, but more could return, or worse… Voldemort. She remembered wildly that Voldemort had said he couldn't reach her with her relatives- well here she was, and she had just been attacked.

Tempest crouched by Dudley, who lay curled up on the ground, pasty and shaking. He didn't look to be in a fit state to talk or walk, so Tempest grabbed one of his thick arms and put it around her shoulders. She braced herself against the fence, planted her feet, and managed to heave Dudley's massive weight up.

He stood on shaky feet that trembled precariously. His face was ashen, mouth shut very tight. Tempest hauled him forwards, supporting most of his weight as he stumbled. They were moving away from number four, but he didn't seem to notice. He barely blinked when Tempest reached her still-invisible bike and shrunk it, this time putting it in the pocket of her jeans.

Then, steeling herself, she turned around with Dudley, and staggered along with his semi-conscious body. She slid her wand back in its holster when they reached number four and unlatched the gate with one hand. Up the path she went, to the door, where beyond the glass panes, the hall light was on.

She rang the doorbell.

As Tempest watched Petunia's outline grow larger and larger through the door, she thought of slipping away and leaving before she arrived.

She ducked out from under Dudley's arm and propped him up against the wall of the house, but it was too late. The door opened.

"Diddy! About time too, I was getting quite- quite- _you!_ "

Tempest straightened up, then leapt to the side as Dudley, greenfaced, opened his mouth at last and vomited all over the doormat.

"Oh my god, oh my _god-_ Vernon? VERNON!"

Petunia looked between Tempest and Dudley, white in the face. Vernon Dursely came galumphing out of the living room, walrus mustache blowing as he came. He barely looked at Tempest, hurrying forward to help negotiate a weak-kneed Dudley over the threshold while avoiding stepping in the pool of sick.

"What is it, son? What's happened? Did Mrs Polkiss give you something foreign for tea?"

Tempest took the opportunity to try and slip away. But Petunia's hand closed like a vice around Tempest's wrist. "You. You come in here and explain this," she said in a shaking voice.

"Let go of me," snapped Tempest, but she went with Petunia into the house.

The house was bright and immaculate as Tempest remembered. She was led into the kitchen, and she stood right by the door as Petunia hurried forward to fuss with Dudley, who was now seated in a chair, still very green and clammy looking.

"Vernon," said Petunia, a hand on the shoulder of her son, "Vernon, it's _her._ "

Vernon looked up, up at Tempest, his eyes glazed without recognition, until slowly, very slowly, they came into focus. "YOU!" he shouted, pointing a shaking finger at Tempest, his moustache wobbling precariously on his upper lip, "you came back to do this- you attacked my son!"

"I didn't," said Tempest, a coil of something awakening in her chest. How many times had Dudley and his friends left her with bruises, or a bloody nose, a swollen eye, and how often had the pair of them turned a blind eye? Five years had passed, yet it was as though nothing had changed.

"You fix him!" bellowed Vernon, "you fix my son!" His piggy eyes, the eyes that Dudley had inherited, fixed on Tempest's wand, visible from her holster. "You're one of _them_ now- you cursed him with that- that _thing_!" He raised his fists, and Tempest unsheathed her wand in one quick motion.

"I did not curse him," said Tempest sharply, and her voice cracked across the room like a knife. "I _will_ curse you, if you come one step closer. Dementors did this."

"Dementoids!" spluttered Vernon, "what codswallop is this? You come swanning back from God knows where, put some crackpot spell on my son as revenge, did you?"

"Dudley," snapped Tempest, addressing her cousin who had not yet said a word, "I did not use my wand on you, did I?"

All eyes turned to Dudley. His jaw trembled, and Petunia clutched tighter at him. "It's all right, Diddy dear, tell us, tell us what happened."

Slowly and faintly, he said; " _not her_ … _Told me to run_."

Tempest relaxed slightly. "Right, so-"

But Dudley was still whispering, and both Vernon and Petunia shushed her.

" _Cold…_ " Dudley said hoarsely, shuddering. "Everything dark. And then… I h-heard… _things._ Inside m-my head…"

Vernon and Petunia exchanged looks of utter horror. They obviously thought Dudley was losing his mind. Petunia had tears in her eyes.

"Give him some chocolate," said Tempest from her position at the door. "It helps with the aftereffects."

Petunia, it seemed, was beyond argument, and she scrambled for a cupboard. She placed an entire block in wax paper in Dudley's hands, helped him snap a piece off to put in his mouth. He began chewing slowly, then with an increasing speed. Some of the green left his face, and his hands stopped shaking as much.

Vernon turned to Tempest, adopting a voice of forced calm. "You said you knew what did this," he said.

"Dementors," repeated Tempest.

"And what the ruddy hell are dementors?" asked Vernon, his colour rising again.

"They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban," said Petunia. Ringing silence followed these words and then she clapped her hand over her mouth as though she had let slip a disgusting swear word. Vernon was goggling at her. Tempest too looked very hard at her.

Petunia looked quite appalled with herself. She glanced at Vernon in fearful apology, then lowered her hand slightly to reveal her horsey teeth. "I heard- that awful boy- telling _her_ about them- years ago," she said jerkily.

Tempest was stunned. The Dursleys shunned anything extraordinary, even late post. The times that Tempest had dared to ask after her parents, she had been yelled at- punished. She had learnt quickly not to ask, and never once had Tempest heard Petunia volunteer information about her sister.

Vernon opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it once more, shut it, then, apparently struggling to remember how to talk, opened it for a third time and croaked, "So- so- they- er- they- er- they actually exist, do they- er- dementy-whatsits?"

Petunia nodded.

Vernon looked from Petunia to Dudley to Tempest as if hoping somebody was going to admit it was all a hoax. When nobody did, he opened his mouth yet again, but just then, a screech owl swooped in through the open kitchen window. Narrowly missing the top of Vernon's head, it soared across the kitchen, dropped the large parchment envelope it was carrying in its beak at Tempest's feet, and turned gracefully, the tips of its wings just brushing the top of the fridge, then zoomed outside again and off across the garden.

Petunia had let out a shriek of terror, and Vernon's face purpled.

"What in the ruddy hell does that have business here?" he shouted. "You come back and all manner of- of _peculiarities-_ "

But Tempest wasn't listening. She tore the envelope open and unfolded the letter inside.

 _Dear Miss. Potter,_

 _We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle. The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand._

 _As you have already received an official warning for a previous offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on August 12th._

 _Hoping you are well,_

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Mafalda Hopkirk_

 _Improper Use of Magic Office. Ministry of Magic._

Tempest felt most of her organs dislodge inside her and resettle in her gut. She kept her expression carefully blank as she refolded the letter. Somewhere in the vicinity, Vernon and Petunia were talking.

"Right then, I'm leaving," she said, lowering her wand and stuffing the letter deep into a pocket.

"You're not going anywhere!" yelled Vernon, he took two steps forward, then faltered as Tempest leveled her wand at him again. "You still haven't explained what the bloody hell is going on! If they guard some prison, why were those things here? And you still haven't fixed my son!"

Urgency was pulsing through her veins. _Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand._ Tempest needed to return to Grimmauld Place where they couldn't find or reach her. She needed to leave _now._ She didn't owe the Dursley anything, much less an explanation.

Tempest spoke quickly. "I can't 'fix' him, chocolate is the best you can do. The dementors were here because of me, I admit it, they were targeting me. Voldemort must have sent them, it just so happened that I was here on the same night-"

"Hang on," said Vernon, his face screwed up, a look of dawning comprehension in his piggy eyes, "I've heard that name-"

"He murdered my parents," said Tempest, matter-of-facty. "He tried and failed to kill me."

"But he's dead," said Vernon carelessly, "we were told he was dead."

"He's back," said Tempest, looking down at her watch. She was running out of time.

"Back?" whispered Petunia.

She was looking at Tempest, and for the first time that night, Tempest felt like she was truly seeing her. Like she understood the magnitude of what Tempest was saying and the implications for everything. But Tempest didn't have time to appreciate any of it.

"I have to go," she said, and she did, ignoring Vernon and Petunia's desperate protests. They followed her, even out into the yard, until she expanded her bike, and they leapt backwards in shock.

But fear for his son had Vernon brave his distaste for magic, and he lunged forward to try and grab Tempest. His hand closed around Tempest's wand, and he was blasted backwards. He toppled over and collapsed in a heap, clutching his hand to himself and looking at her with undisguised fear.

Petunia screamed in fright, and she rushed over to Vernon's side.

Tempest looked over at them, huddled on the ground. Things had spiraled out of control so quickly, the shock had yet to set in. "Your number hasn't changed?" she demanded of Petunia, who shook her head fearfully.

"I'll call," said Tempest, "ask your questions then- I'll only speak to you."

She slung a leg over the bike, flipped the invisibility and took off.

Tempest did not relax until she was well into the clouds, and even then, she found herself looking over her shoulder many times. She was flying as quickly as she could go, thinking desperately of the safety of Grimmauld Place. Neither dementors nor the Ministry could get to her there. She thought of the Order members in the Ministry. Surely they wouldn't sell her out, or insist she gave up her wand.

Her expulsion from Hogwarts was a secondary issue, but it added to the knot of worry in her stomach nonetheless. Tempest needed to speak to Dumbledore. The Ministry couldn't have the power to order him to expel her- it had to be purely in his hands… but Fudge had spoken about curbing Dumbledore's 'free reign' at Hogwarts, and now everything was up in the air.

Tempest landed outside Grimmauld Place in record time, cutting off the power and shrinking it before she even hit the ground. She landed, stumbling on her feet, and staggered up the steps to number twelve. The wards let her through, and the moment she was through the door, she saw utter bedlam.

Order members were hurrying throughout the house, expressions frantic and worried, calling things at each other. Through the mess of people, Tempest saw Sirius materialize, and she followed him quickly up the stairs and into one of the rooms that Tempest hadn't been in yet. The room was bare of everything except for a massive dusty tapestry that stretched across the entire expanse of the wall.

"Thank Merlin you're all right," said Sirius, his hair sticking up oddly like he had run his hands through it multiple times. "Where did you go? Half the Order arrived all at once saying you had used magic and that the Ministry was searching for you- I realized you must have gone off to those muggles- that you had cursed them or something-"

"Sirius calm down!" said Tempest. Her head was ringing with the speed of the events. The ride over hadn't helped her clear her mind at all, and thoughts were swirling about her head too quickly for her to follow. "Yeah I dropped by the Dursleys, but I didn't curse any of them- I hadn't even gone inside but then I ran into my… cousin, Dudley, two seconds later, dementors showed up. They attacked us and I cast a patronus- that's what the Ministry wants me for."

Sirius dragged Tempest into a tight embrace. Her face pressed against the fabric of his shoulder, she let out a deep shuddering breath.

"Things will be fine," reassured Sirius, "In cases of self-defense, they can't press charges. Arthur Weasley and Dumbledore have gone to the Ministry to see what they can do for you, in the meantime-"

 _Crack._

An owl had just crashed into the window at the far end of the room. Sirius swore loudly, and he strode across the room to unlatch the windows and push them open.

The owl soared into the room and deposited a second official looking envelope at Tempest's feet. The letter inside read:

 _Dear Miss. Potter,_

 _Further to our letter of approximately twenty-two minutes ago, the Ministry of Magic has revised its decision to destroy your wand forthwith. You may retain your wand until your disciplinary hearing on 12th August, at which time an official decision will be taken._

 _Following discussions with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry has agreed that the question of your expulsion will also be decided at that time. You should therefore consider yourself suspended from school pending further inquiries._

 _With best wishes,_

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Mafalda Hopkirk_

 _Improper Use of Magic Office. Ministry of Magic_

Tempest looked up at Sirius's expectant expression and nodded slowly, relieved. She offered the letter to him. "I'm safe for now," she said.

Sirius scanned the letter and nodded briskly, "the hearing should only be a formality. No need to worry- well, more about this at least. What's more concerning are these dementors that serendipitously showed up on the one night you decided to visit your old address."

"It would have been in the papers if the dementors had defected and joined Voldemort." said Tempest slowly.

"Which is what worries me," said Sirius. "If they're tracking you somehow… you can't stay in this house always, and if you're in danger when you leave-"

"It wouldn't be so bad," said Tempest lightly. "If I had to be here all the time. We've got each other." She gave an awkward laugh, "I know it seems like I'm turning to you for most things in my life these days, so if I ever become too much…"

Sirius opened his mouth, perhaps to reassure her, or to say that it was a consolation, but not the way things had to be, and then he closed his mouth again. He looked around the room.

"My family tree," he said needlessly, motioning to the tapestry, where there was threaded in large gold letters above:

 ** _The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black._**

 ** _Toujours Pur_**

"I hated this house," Sirius went on, "I only chose it because it was the closest, the most convenient, the safest. I wanted to say… with all we've done to it... making it Order headquarters… it wouldn't have made a difference. What makes things _better,_ or more worthwhile, are the people. And it's you. All of the rest… it's just side dressing. I suppose if you're lucky, those people are your family- and we're well shot of our families… but I like to think we got something better in exchange."

And _that,_ Tempest thought, was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.


	3. Darker Places

**_Chapter Three-_**

Tempest dialed the number, then stood waiting as the phone rang down the line. It had barely rung three times when there was a click, and Petunia Dursley's voice crackled down the line.

 _"Petunia_ _Dursley speaking_."

"I want to keep this quick," said Tempest, "what do you want to know?"

It seemed Petunia had recovered some of her wits as she seemed to realize the tenuous connection over the line. " _Are we in any more danger?"_ she asked tremulously.

"From Voldemort?" said Tempest, "I don't expect so. I've got some of my people keeping an eye out around your neighborhood as a precaution though."

" _Your… your kind is watching us?_ "

"Oh, I didn't realize you preferred being attacked, I can remove your guard at a moment's notice-"

" _No! …no, I didn't mean that._ " A pause, then: " _Where are you?_ "

"It really isn't any of your business," said Tempest curtly, she looked out of the grimy telephone box and she fidgeted impatiently.

" _Will you… will you be coming back?_ "

Tempest bit back a twisted smile. Of course the Dursleys were cowering in fear of the potential of her returning. "You won't be seeing me again," she promised.

For a moment, there was nothing but the crackling of static, and Tempest sighed heavily. She would have thought Petunia had prepared more for this distasteful conversation.

" _You're well then?_ " asked Petunia, " _it's been many years-_ "

"Oh don't pretend like you care," snorted Tempest, "If you couldn't bring yourself to mention your own sister in ten years, you aren't the least bit concerned with her offspring. I'm in sparkling form, things worked out for the best."

" _…I am… glad._ " Petunia gave a silted laugh. " _It was a good thing then, that day at the mall, we forgot-_ "

Tempest hung up.

On the morning of the hearing, Tempest had her hair plaited neatly back and had put on the simple white blouse and dark jeans Sirius had helped her pick out. The hearing would be full of old stodgy people, and he advised dressing as inoffensively as possible.

It was a good point, as Tempest couldn't see some stuffy Ministry workers taking very well to her Iron Maiden t-shirts and ripped jeans. She said goodbye to Sirius at the door of Grimmauld Place with the promise of chips on her return, and snagged his jacket on the way out.

It was a brisk morning, the sky as grey as ever, and Tempest walked with Mr Weasley through the deserted streets to the Underground station where they caught the tube to Mr Weasley's delight. He was still looking about with a fascinated expression at the vending machines when Tempest tripped on the gap at the platform and crashed into one of the besuited men filing out of the carriage.

His briefcase fell open and papers scattered everywhere, quickly trampled on by the rest of the crowd moving out onto the platform. Tempest was already reaching for her wand to summon the papers back before she remembered and stooped to begin picking them up instead.

"So sorry," she said, ducking between legs to gather them up.

The man who she had bumped into stood with the rest of the papers in his arms, trying to reorganize them hastily. He was dressed in a slightly-too large suit and had thick curling hair. He looked very self-important for someone who couldn't have been far out of University.

"Thank you," he said, managing to make the words sound more like an insult as Tempest handed him the rest of his papers.

Mr Weasley finally hastened over, and they joined the lines of people filing up the stairs.

"You have to be more careful than that," he cautioned her.

Tempest felt like protesting that she hadn't used magic, then recalled how close she had come. _No underage magic,_ Tempest reminded herself. Just that morning, she had used magic to tie her boots. She remained silent as the telephone box ( _six, two, four, four, two_ ) lowered them down into the Ministry of Magic, which was every bit as majestic as one would expect it to be. The entire building was underground, sprawling in every direction, from the grand entrance forum to the many gleaming lifts that spirited the Ministry workers away to their floors.

"Over here, Tempest," said Mr Weasley, and Tempest managed to make her way out of the stream of Ministry employees without knocking any of them over and to the desk to the left of the hall, over which hung a sign saying **SECURITY.** A badly shaven wizard looked up as she approached and put down his _Daily Prophet._

"I'm escorting a visitor," said Mr Weasley, gesturing toward Tempest.

"Step over here," said the wizard in a bored voice. Tempest walked closer to him and the wizard held up a long golden rod, thin and flexible as a car aerial, and passed it up and down Tempest's front and back. "Wand," he grunted next, putting down the golden instrument and holding out his hand.

It took a moment for Tempest to extract it, and she passed it to him, suppressing a grin when it sparked viciously, making the wizard hiss in pain and drop it hastily onto a strange brass instrument, which looked something like a set of scales with only one dish. It began to vibrate. A narrow strip of parchment came speeding out of a slit in the base. The wizard tore this off and read the writing upon it.

"Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, has been in use four years. That correct?"

"Yes," said Tempest.

"I keep this," said the wizard, impaling the slip of parchment on a small brass spike. "You get that back," he added, nodding towards her wand, reluctant to handle it again.

"Thank you." said Tempest, taking it with a grin.

"Hang on..." said the wizard slowly. His eyes had darted from the silver visitor's badge on Tempest's jacket to her face and by extension the scar that wound it's way down from her temple to jaw.

"Thank you, Eric," said Mr Weasley firmly, grasping Tempest by the shoulder and steering her away from the desk and back into the stream of wizards and witches heading toward the twenty lifts that stood behind wrought golden grilles.

They caught the lift up to _Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services_.

"This is us, Tempest," said Mr Weasley, and they left the lift into a corridor lined with doors. "My office is on the other side of the floor."

They were underground, yet the windows that they passed by were streaming sunlight. _Enchanted,_ Tempest reminded herself. The window of her room at Grimmauld Place had been spelled similarly. It had the same grand view of the cove as her old room back at Minnie's had.

"Just round here, Tempest."

They turned a corner, walked through a pair of heavy oak doors, and emerged in a cluttered, open area divided into cubicles, which were buzzing with talk and laughter. Memos in the shape of paper planes were zooming in and out of cubicles like miniature rockets. A lopsided sign on the nearest cubicle read ' _Auror Headquarters_.'

Tempest looked curiously through the gaps as they passed. The aurors had covered their cubicle walls with everything from pictures of wanted wizards and photographs of their families, to posters of their favorite Quidditch teams and articles from the _Daily Prophet._ A scarlet-robed man with a ponytail was sitting with his boots up on his desk, dictating a report to his quill. A little farther along, a witch with a patch over her eye was talking over the top of her cubicle wall to Kingsley Shacklebolt.

He and Mr Weasley had a brusque exchange while Tempest continued to look around her. She had been told, three times now, that she would make a good auror. It wasn't such an outlandish idea. The job seemed fascinating enough, and she was no stranger to facing dark wizards… Finally, Mr Weasley finished and he led her out to his office.

His office was a mess of passages away from the aurors, and very small indeed. Two desks had been crammed inside it and there was barely room to move around them because of all the overflowing filing cabinets lining the walls, on top of which were tottering piles of files. The little wall space available was taken up by several posters of cars, including one of a dismantled engine, two illustrations of postboxes Mr Weasley seemed to have cut out of Muggle children's books, and a diagram showing how to wire a plug.

Sitting on top of Mr Weasley's overflowing in-tray was an old toaster that was hiccupping in a disconsolate way and a pair of empty leather gloves that were twiddling their thumbs. A photograph of the Weasley family stood beside the in-tray. Tempest noticed that Percy appeared to have walked out of it.

"We haven't got a window," said Mr Weasley apologetically, taking off his bomber jacket and placing it on the back of his chair. "We've asked, but they don't seem to think we need one. Have a seat, Tempest, doesn't look as if Perkins is in yet."

Tempest perched on the chair behind Perkins's desk. "You could try undetectable expansion charms if you wanted a bit more room," she suggested.

Mr Weasley shook his head, "We don't have a permit… that would be nice though."

Tempest mused on the beauty of illegal activity while Mr Weasley fussed about with memos that had just arrived on his desk.

Then a stooped, timid-looking old wizard with fluffy white hair entered the room, panting. "Oh Arthur!" he said desperately, without looking at Tempest. "Thank goodness, I didn't know what to do for the best, whether to wait here for you or not, I've just sent an owl to your home but you've obviously missed it- an urgent message came ten minutes ago-"

"I know about the regurgitating toilet," said Mr Weasley.

"No, no, it's not the toilet, it's the Potter girl's hearing- they've changed the time and venue- it starts at eight o'clock now and it's down in old Courtroom Ten-"

"Down in old- but they told me- Merlin's beard-" Mr Weasley looked at his watch, let out a yelp, and leapt from his chair. "Quick, Tempest, we should have been there five minutes ago!"

Perkins flattened himself against the filing cabinets as Mr Weasley left the office at a run. Tempest leapt over Perkins' desk and followed.

"Why have they changed the time?" asked Tempest, as they hurtled past the Auror cubicles; people poked out their heads and stared as they streaked past.

"I've no idea, but thank goodness we got here so early, if you'd missed it, it would have been catastrophic!" Mr Weasley skidded to a halt beside the lifts and jabbed impatiently at the down button. "Come ON!"

The lift clattered into view and they hurried inside. Every time it stopped Mr Weasley cursed furiously and pummeled the number nine button. "Those courtrooms haven't been used in years," he said angrily. "I can't think why they're doing it down there- unless- but no." A plump witch carrying a smoking goblet entered the lift at that moment, and Mr Weasley did not elaborate.

They waited, jittering in the lift until the voice in the elevator announced: " _Department of Mysteries_."

"Quick, Tempest," said Mr Weasley as the lift doors rattled open, and they sped up a corridor that was quite different from those above. The walls were bare; there were no windows and no doors apart from a plain black one set at the very end of the corridor. Tempest expected them to go through it, but instead Mr Weasley seized her by the arm and dragged her to the left, where there was an opening leading to a flight of steps.

"Down here, down here," panted Mr Weasley, taking two steps at a time. "The lift doesn't even come down this far… _why_ they're doing it there…"

They reached the bottom of the steps and ran along yet another corridor, which bore a great resemblance to the underground dungeons of Hogwarts.

"Courtroom… ten… I think... we're nearly… yes." Mr Weasley stumbled to a halt outside a grimy dark door with an immense iron lock and slumped against the wall, clutching at a stitch in his chest.

"Go on," he panted, pointing his thumb at the door. "Get in there."

"Alright," said Tempest. Any nerves she might have had, she had left in Mr Weasley's office, and now, flooded with adrenaline from the run, she felt much less afraid. She turned the heavy iron door handle and stepped inside.

The room, to her disbelief, was familiar. She had seen it before, only from above. She had seen the Lestranges sentenced here, along with Barty Crouch Jr. The room looked very imposing from the ground. There was no reasonable lighting- the walls were made of dark stone and dimly lit by torches. To her sides there were empty benches, but ahead, where the benches rose, on the highest there sat a great number of shadowy figures. They had been talking in low voices, the whispers carrying easily to her, but as the heavy door swung closed behind Tempest, an ominous silence fell.

A cold male voice rang across the courtroom. "You're late."

"Ah, sorry," said Tempest. "Wasn't aware the time had changed… I ran though, when I heard, if that helps?"

"That is not the Wizengamot's fault," said the voice, and Tempest wished she could see the speaker. She felt very wrong-footed, craning her neck up to look in his direction. "An owl was sent to you this morning. Take your seat."

Tempest's gaze fell on the chair in the centre of the room, the arms of which were covered in chains. It was hardly an inviting sight, but she walked across the stone floor, her footsteps echoing loudly throughout the chamber. She lowered herself warily into it, perching at the very edge. The chains clinked threateningly at her, but didn't bind her. Relieved, Tempest looked up at the people above.

There were roughly fifty of them, all, as far as she could see, wearing plum-coloured robes with an elaborately worked silver ' _W_ ' on the left-hand side of the chest and all staring down their noses at her. Most of them looked, as Sirius had predicted, to be aging toffs, and she redirected her attention to the very middle of the front row, where Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic sat. He was a man entering the body of a life well lived, and his usually indulgent smile was absent today.

A broad, square-jawed witch with very short gray hair sat on Fudge's left; she wore a monocle and looked forbidding. On Fudge's right was another witch, but she was sitting so far back on the bench that her face was in shadow.

It was a different sort of suspense, Tempest noted. Knowing that the Ministry could legitimately take her wand from her and expel her from Hogwarts. She could fight against a dragon, against Voldemort and Death Eaters trying to kill her, but how could she fight against _this?_

"Very well," said Fudge. "The accused being present- finally- let us begin. Are you ready?" he called down the row.

"Yes, sir," said an eager voice Tempest knew. Percy Weasley was sitting at the very end of the front bench. Tempest stared very hard at him, but Percy's eyes, behind his horn-rimmed glasses, were fixed on his parchment, a quill poised in his hand.

"Disciplinary hearing of the fifth of August," said Fudge in a ringing voice, and Percy began taking notes at once, "into offenses committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Tempestas Lily Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley-"

"-Witness for the defense, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," said a quiet voice from behind Tempest, who started and turned her head to see Dumbledore crossing the room.

He drew level with Tempest and looked up at Fudge.

"Ah," said Fudge, who looked thoroughly disconcerted. "Dumbledore. Yes. You- er- got our- er- message that the time and- er- place of the hearing had been changed, then?"

"I must have missed it," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the Ministry three hours early, so no harm done."

It occurred to Tempest all at once the cause for altering the where and the when of the hearing so abruptly that even the owls couldn't make their time, was _Dumbledore._

"Yes- well- I suppose we'll need another chair- I- Weasley, could you-?"

Tempest was all for offering her own seat to Dumbledore but he spoke first. "Not to worry, not to worry," he said pleasantly. He took out his wand, gave it a little flick, and a squashy chintz armchair appeared out of nowhere next to Tempest.

Dumbledore sat down, put the tips of his long fingers together, and looked at Fudge over them with an expression of polite interest. The Wizengamot was muttering and fidgeting restlessly; only when Fudge spoke again did they settle down.

"Yes," said Fudge again, shuffling his notes. "Well, then. So. The charges. Yes."

He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read, "The charges against the accused are as follows: That she did knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of her actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a muggle, on August the second at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offense under paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under section thirteen of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy. You are Tempestas Lily Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?" Fudge said, glaring at Tempest over the top of his parchment.

Half-right, but it wasn't like she was under Veritaserum. "Yes," said Tempest. The hearing degraded quickly from there. Tempest was unable to get another word in edgewise, other than the damning shallow 'yeses' to Fudge's questions, until the witch with the monocle on Fudge's left cut across him in a booming voice. "You produced a fully fledged Patronus?"

"Yes," said Tempest, very quickly losing her temper, "because-"

"A corporeal Patronus?"

"Yes," said Tempest impatiently, "Head, neck, torso, four legs and hooves. I didn't have time to count each individual hair in its mane, but I'd say they were all there." Dumbledore cleared his throat quietly beside Tempest and she wound down. "But yes, corporeal. It's a stallion. Used to be a doe but it changed at the beginning of this year."

"Used to be?" boomed Madam Bones. "You have produced a Patronus before now?"

"Yes," said Tempest, "on school grounds that is-" Half-true again, but they didn't know that.

Bones seemed quite impressed, but Fudge remained just as irritable.

"It's not a question of how impressive the magic was," said Fudge in a testy voice. "In fact, the more impressive, the worse it is, I would have thought, given that the girl did it in plain view of a muggle!"

"The muggle in question was my cousin," Tempest said loudly, "who was clearly already aware of magic, and the _reason_ I used the spell- was because of the dementors. _"_

She had expected more muttering, but the silence that fell seemed to be denser than before.

"Dementors?" said Bones after a moment, raising her thick eyebrows so that her monocle looked in danger of falling out. "What do you mean, girl?"

"I mean the _function_ of a patronus is to fight off dementors," said Tempest slowly, and very clearly, "and that is what I used it for, when two dementors decided to go for me and my cousin."

"Ah," said Fudge again, smirking unpleasantly as he looked around at the Wizengamot, as though inviting them to share the joke. "Yes. Yes, I thought we'd be hearing something like this."

"Dementors in Little Whinging?" said Bones. "I don't understand-"

"Don't you, Amelia?" said Fudge, still smirking. "Let me explain. She's been thinking it through and decided a dementor would make a very nice little cover story, very nice indeed. Muggles can't see dementors, can they, girl? Highly convenient, highly convenient... so it's just your word and no witnesses..."

Tempest felt her blood rising. "I didn't do it for kicks- do you have _any_ idea how often your dementors have been out of control? Five times now-"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. Tempest snapped her jaw shut. "We do, in fact, have a witness to the presence of a dementor in that alleyway," he said, "other than Dudley Dursley, I mean."

Fudge's plump face seemed to slacken, as though somebody had let air out of it. He stared down at Dumbledore for a moment or two, then, with the appearance of a man pulling himself back together, said, "We haven't got time to listen to more taradiddles, I'm afraid, Dumbledore. I want this dealt with quickly-"

"I may be wrong," said Dumbledore pleasantly, "but I am sure that under the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, the accused has the right to present witnesses for his or her case? Isn't that the policy of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Madam Bones?" he continued, addressing the witch in the monocle.

"True," said Bones. "Perfectly true."

"Oh, very well, very well," snapped Fudge. "Where is this person?"

That was something that Tempest wanted to know too. There was another witch or wizard in Little Whinging who had seen the attack? And why hadn't they helped?

"I brought her with me," said Dumbledore. "She's just outside the door. Should I-?"

"No- Weasley, you go," Fudge barked at Percy, who got up at once, hurried down the stone steps from the judge's balcony, and hastened past Dumbledore and Tempest without glancing at them.

A moment later, Percy returned, followed by a woman who Tempest had not seen nor thought of for five years. Mrs Figg, her batty and cat obsessed neighbor whose house Tempest had stayed at one or two times during her Dursley days. She looked the same as Tempest recalled her, bizzare in appearance with a long flowing skirt and flower-patterned blouse, still wearing tatty carpet slippers, out of place even in a room filled with plum and deep blue robes. Mrs Figg looked scared and battier than ever. Tempest would never, not even in her wildest dreams have imagined Mrs Figg here, in a Wizard's court.

Dumbledore stood up and gave Mrs Figg his chair, conjuring a second one for himself.

"Full name?" said Fudge loudly, when Mrs Figg had sat on the very edge of her seat.

"Arabella Doreen Figg," said Mrs Figg in her quavery voice.

"And who exactly are you?" said Fudge, clearly bored.

"I'm a resident of Little Whinging, close to where Tempest Potter lives," said Mrs Figg.

"We have no record of any witch or wizard living in Little Whinging other than Tempestas Potter," said Bones at once. "That situation has always been closely monitored, given... given past events."

"I'm a Squib," said Mrs Figg, to Tempest's great surprise. "So you wouldn't have me registered, would you?"

"A Squib, eh?" said Fudge, eyeing her suspiciously. "We'll be checking that. You'll leave details of your parentage with my assistant, Weasley. Incidentally, can Squibs see dementors?" he added, looking left and right along the bench where he sat.

"Yes, we can!" said Mrs Figg indignantly.

Fudge looked back down at her, his eyebrows raised. "Very well," he said coolly. "What is your story?"

Mrs Figg's account was thoroughly uninspiring and clearly rehearsed, but she managed not to betray the fact that Tempest hadn't lived at Privet Drive for five years now, and she did not mention Tempest's flying bike. Her description of the dementors was wanting, but accurate enough. It wasn't the best performance, but Tempest would take what she could get.

When she was dismissed, Fudge said loftily, "not a very convincing witness."

Tempest glared up at him.

"Oh, I don't know," said Bones in her booming voice. "She certainly described the effects of a dementor attack very accurately. And I can't imagine why she would say it was there if it wasn't-"

"But a dementor wandering into a Muggle suburb and just happening to come across a witch?" snorted Fudge. "The odds on that must be very, very long, even Bagman wouldn't have bet-"

"Oh, I don't think any of us believe the dementor was there by coincidence," said Dumbledore lightly.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" asked Fudge icily.

"It means that I think it was ordered there," said Dumbledore.

"I think we might have a record of it if someone had ordered a dementor to go strolling through Little Whinging!" barked Fudge.

"Not if the dementors are taking orders from someone other than the Ministry of Magic these days," said Dumbledore calmly. "I have already given you my views on this matter, Cornelius."

"Yes, you have," said Fudge forcefully, "and I have no reason to believe that your views are anything other than bilge, Dumbledore. The dementors remain in place in Azkaban and are doing everything we ask them to."

"Then," said Dumbledore, quietly but clearly, "we must ask ourselves why somebody within the Ministry ordered a dementor to Little Whinging on the second of August."

In the complete silence that greeted these words, the witch to the right of Fudge leaned forward so that Tempest saw her for the first time. She was a large, pale toadlike woman. She was squat with a broad, flabby face, very little neck, and a very wide, slack mouth. Her eyes were large, round, and slightly bulging. On top of all of that, she was wearing a bow in her hair.

"The Chair recognizes Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister," said Fudge.

The witch spoke in a fluttery, girlish, high-pitched voice that pained Tempest's ears. "I'm sure I must have misunderstood you, Professor Dumbledore," she said with a simper that left her big, round eyes as cold as ever. "So silly of me. But it sounded for a teensy moment as though you were suggesting that the Ministry of Magic had ordered an attack on this girl!" She gave a slimy laugh that made the hairs on the back of Tempest's neck stand up. A few other members of the Wizenagmot laughed with her.

"If it is true that the dementors are taking orders only from the Ministry of Magic, and it is also true that dementors attacked Tempest and her cousin a week ago, then it follows logically that somebody at the Ministry might have ordered the attacks," said Dumbledore politely. "Of course, this particular dementor may have been outside Ministry control-"

"There are no dementors outside Ministry control!" snapped Fudge, who had turned brick red.

Dumbledore inclined his head in a little bow. "Then undoubtedly the Ministry will be making a full inquiry into why two dementors were so very far from Azkaban and why it attacked without authorization."

"It is not for you to decide what the Ministry of Magic does or does not do, Dumbledore!" snapped Fudge, now a shade of magenta that would make a magnificent set of robes.

"Of course it isn't," said Dumbledore mildly. "I was merely expressing my confidence that this matter will not go uninvestigated." He glanced at Bones, who readjusted her monocle and stared back at him, frowning slightly.

"I would remind everybody that the behavior of these dementors, if indeed they are not figments of this girl's imagination, is not the subject of this hearing!" said Fudge. "We are here to examine Tempestas Potter's offenses under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery!"

"Of course we are," said Dumbledore, "but the presence of the dementor in that alleyway is highly relevant. Clause seven of the Decree states that magic may be used before Muggles in exceptional circumstances, and as those exceptional circumstances include situations that threaten the life of the wizard or witch himself, or witches, wizards, or Muggles present at the time of the time-"

"We are familiar with clause seven, thank you very much!" snarled Fudge.

"Of course you are," said Dumbledore courteously. "Then we are in agreement that Tempest's use of the Patronus Charm in these circumstances falls precisely into the category of exceptional circumstances it describes?"

"If there were dementors, which I doubt-"

"You have heard from an eyewitness," Dumbledore interrupted. "If you still doubt her truthfulness, call her back, question her again. I am sure she would not object."

"I- that- not-" blustered Fudge, fiddling with the papers before him. "It's- I want this over with today, Dumbledore!"

"Pardon me, but I'd rather not be convicted just because you wanted to get home before the eighteenth hour," snapped Tempest, Sirius flashing before her eyes. Fudge turned the exact shade of his robes looking at her.

"Precisely, Cornelius, you would not want a serious miscarriage of justice," said Dumbledore.

"Serious miscarriage, my hat!" said Fudge at the top of his voice. "Have you ever bothered to tot up the number of cock-and-bull stories this girl has come out with, Dumbledore, while trying to cover up her flagrant misuse of magic out of school? I suppose you've forgotten the Hover Charm she used three years ago-"

"I wasn't even there that day- that was a house-elf!" protested Tempest. She could still remember receiving the letter, showing Minnie, and asking if she had somehow sleepwalked all the way back to England.

"YOU SEE?" roared Fudge. "A house-elf! In a Muggle house! I ask you-"

"If you lot did your job regulating magic and dark creatures, then I wouldn't very well be here now, would I-"

Fudge banged his fist on the judge's bench and upset a bottle of ink. "And I haven't even started on what she gets up to at school-" he said as he attempted to scrub the ink off his notes.

"-but as the Ministry has no authority to punish Hogwarts students for misdemeanors at school, Tempest's behavior there is not relevant to this inquiry," said Dumbledore, politely as ever, but now with a suggestion of coolness behind his words.

"Oho!" said Fudge. "Not our business what she does at school, eh? You think so?"

"The Ministry does not have the power to expel Hogwarts students, Cornelius, as I reminded you on the night of the second of August," said Dumbledore. "Nor does it have the right to confiscate wands until charges have been successfully proven, again, as I reminded you on the same night. In your admirable haste to ensure that the law is upheld, you appear, inadvertently I am sure, to have overlooked a few laws yourself."

"Laws can be changed," said Fudge savagely.

"Of course they can," said Dumbledore, inclining his head. "And you certainly seem to be making many changes, Cornelius. Why, in the few short weeks since I was asked to leave the Wizengamot, it has already become the practice to hold a full criminal trial to deal with a simple matter of underage magic!"

Merlin, thought Tempest, she really was disliked at the Ministry.

A few of the wizards above them shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Fudge turned a slightly deeper shade of puce. Umbridge, however, merely gazed at Dumbledore, her face quite expressionless.

"As far as I am aware, however," Dumbledore continued, "there is no law yet in place that says this court's job is to punish Tempest for every bit of magic she has ever performed. She has been charged with a specific offense and she has presented her defense. All she and I can do now is to await your verdict."

Dumbledore put his fingertips together again and said no more. Fudge glared at him, evidently incensed. Dumbledore continued to look up at the benches where the entire Wizengamot had fallen into urgent, whispered conversations.

Tempest sat and waited. She knew she hadn't made a very good impression. There was the lateness; the interruptions and she didn't suppose her rudeness had endeared her to the Wizengamot any. It also didn't help that the papers were furiously printing that she was insane. The hearing hadn't been about her situation so much as conflicting ideologies between Dumbledore and Fudge, which did not bode well for her.

The whispering stopped. Tempest looked up at the judges.

"Those in favor of clearing the accused of all charges?" said Bones's booming voice.

A vote. Hands were rising into the air, so many hands, far more than she would have thought and it was more than half...

"And those in favor of conviction?"

Fudge raised his hand; so did half a dozen others, including Umbridge. Fudge glanced around at them all, looking as though there was something large stuck in his throat, then lowered his own hand. He took two deep breaths and then said, in a voice distorted by suppressed rage, "Very well, very well... cleared of all charges."

"Excellent," said Dumbledore briskly, springing to his feet, pulling out his wand, and causing the two chintz armchairs to vanish. "Well, I must be getting along. Good day to you all."

Dumbledore's abrupt departure took Tempest by surprise, but she felt decidedly better. Her wand was nestled safely in one of her jacket pockets, and it wouldn't be taken from her any time soon.

The Wizengamot were all getting to their feet, talking, and gathering up their papers and packing them away. With no dismissal, Tempest slinked out of the chair, and strode out toward the exit, yanking the door open and colliding with Mr Weasley, who was standing right outside.

"Dumbledore didn't say-"

"Cleared," Tempest said, righting herself and pulling the door closed behind her, "of all charges!"

Mr Weasley beamed. "Tempest, that's wonderful! Well, of course, they couldn't have found you guilty, not on the evidence, but even so, I can't pretend I wasn't-" But Mr Weasley broke off, because the courtroom door had just opened again, forcing Tempest to stumble out of the way. The Wizengamot were filing out.

"Merlin's beard," said Mr Weasley wonderingly, "you were tried by the full court?"

"Seems so," said Tempest.

They waited until the members in the courtroom had all left, including Percy, whom Mr Weasley entirely ignored.

"I'm going to take you straight back so you can tell the others the good news," he said, beckoning Tempest forward as Percy's heels disappeared up the stairs to the ninth level. I'll drop you off on the way to that toilet in Bethnal Green. Come on..."

"Thanks," said Tempest, feeling quite free now, "Thank Merlin Dumbledore showed up, Fudge seemed dead set on finding me guilty." They mounted the stairs, Tempest taking them three at a time. "Things have definitely turned around here, haven't they? Fudge didn't seem at all concerned that his dementors were running amuck-"

Tempest broke off. She was ahead of Mr Weasley and had just reached the ninth-level corridor where Fudge was standing mere feet away, talking quietly to a tall man with sleek blond hair.

"Ah."

Lucius Malfoy, complete with derisive sneer, turned at the sound of Tempest's arrival, breaking off his conversation with the Minister, cold gray eyes narrowing and fixing upon Tempest's own.

"Well, well, well... Patronus Potter," said Lucius Malfoy coolly.

Tempest sucked in a breath through her teeth, trying to rid herself of the feeling of being dragged underwater. For him to stand there, so brazenly… _knowing_ what he knew…

"The Minister was just telling me about your verdict, Miss Potter," drawled Malfoy the senior, interrupting Tempest's train of thought. "Quite astonishing, the way you continue to wriggle out of very tight holes... Snakelike, in fact..."

A footstep sounded behind Tempest, and Mr Weasley arrived, quickly taking stock of the situation.

Tempest cleared her throat. "What I'd give to be that discreet."

Lucius Malfoy raised his eyes to Mr Weasley's face. "And Arthur Weasley too! What are you doing here, Arthur?"

"I work here," said Mr Weasley shortly.

"Not here, surely?" said Malfoy the senior, raising his eyebrows and glancing toward the door over Mr Weasley's shoulder. "I thought you were up on the second floor... Don't you do something that involves sneaking Muggle artifacts home and bewitching them?"

"No," said Mr Weasley curtly.

"How's your arm?" Tempest asked recklessly.

Malfoy stiffened. "Well," he said shortly, before turning back to Fudge. "Shall we go up to your office, then, Minister?"

"Certainly," said Fudge, turning his back on Tempest and Mr Weasley. "This way, Lucius."

They strode off together, talking in low voices. Tempest waited until they vanished into the lift before speaking. "He's bribing Fudge, right?"

Mr Weasley nodded, then shrugged, then nodded again. "Most likely."

"So if I started giving incredibly generously to the Ministry, do you think that'd get me into better standing with them?"

Mr Weasley chuckled. "You could try, but after today, I think you're past the point of redemption in their eyes."

Tempest laughed as the lift returned for them. "Well, it was worth a try."

Remus and Tonks were still at the house when Tempest got back, and they took turns pumping her hand and congratulating her heartily. After she had finished telling the tale of her triumph, she and Sirius prepared to leave to get chips, to Tonks' reluctant caution. Sirius had waved her off. Dumbledore wasn't around, they were wearing their disguises, and Tempest deserved chips.

They ended up buying double orders and they settled down on the grass at the nearby park to celebrate. The sky remained as overcast as the morning, but everything seemed much brighter. They gorged on the chips and watched a muggle family and their kids play on the rusty swings.

"I never played on the swings when I was a kid," said Tempest idly, "I wanted to, but Dudley would always come around and kick me off them. You ever get on one?"

"We Blacks were above that sort of thing," said Sirius, chewing with his mouth wide open and leaning back against his elbows in the grass. "No swings, no playgrounds, no _chips._ "

"Sounds fucking awful," said Tempest.

"So does getting your wand snapped," replied Sirius, toasting her.

Tempest clinked her bottle of gingerbeer against his. "It really would have sucked to have to shove the shards of my wand into an umbrella," she said, thinking of Hagrid. "Although I suppose if it was a fine black one with a sword hidden in the handle as well…"

"The thing with contingencies, is that they should come before the fact," said Sirius, laughing at her. "Although it wouldn't be ideal, you've done wandless magic in the past right?" At Tempest's non-committal shrug and jerky nod, he continued, "I have a feeling losing your wand might not slow you down as much as you think it might. Your magical ability is beyond anything I've ever seen before."

Tempest thought back to the dragon in the Tournament, of when it had breathed fire at her, wandless, she had been able to conjure up water from thin air. Of when Voldemort had been about to curse her, and she had managed to distract him with an _Incendio_ for long enough to hide. Then she thought back to being tied to the headstone, her wand beyond her grasp, and unable to reach for the magic.

"Really?" she said, "because it constantly doesn't feel like enough. It's unreliable."

"So we'll work on it," said Sirius, "you became an animagus in a year, Tempest. You have the potential for this. And… you could do with more reliable things in your life."

"Ha," deadpanned Tempest.

That night, Tempest sat down at the desk in her room and pulled a piece of parchment toward her. Through force of habit, she found herself reaching for a fountain pen, before remembering she was making a wizarding correspondence, and inked her quill instead.

 _Malfoy-_

 _Here are the records I promised. I was at a Ministry hearing earlier today, and ran into your father afterward. I think he was bribing the Minister-_

Tempest looked at the page with disgust. She began again.

 _How've your holidays been? I don't suppose you've heard anything about what Voldemort's up to from your dear old dad, have you? Information for my Radiohead records, what do you say?_

That one Tempest scowled at for many moments. She set the nib of the quill to parchment again. ' _How do you live with yourself, and your family?_ ' ended up crumpled in the bin, along with, ' _getting along last term was nice, but things have changed now-_ ' and, ' _thank you for catching the Skeeter-beetle, but why did you do it? If you wanted something in return, you should've hung on to the jar and bargained better, because I owe you nothing-_ '

Eventually, and with lots of blots and crossing outs, Tempest had written-

 _Malfoy-_

 _I've attached the records I promised; send them back when you're done. Whatever sort of understanding we had last year, I think it's safe to say is now over. The things that have happened, there's no changing them, and the people you're in line with can't be ignored. There are still things I want to know, because you've left a lot of questions of mine unanswered, and if I don't get an answer, then there's no more harm than failing to ask at all. Why did you help me last year? Why did your father let me escape the graveyard? Today I saw him bribing the Minister of Magic like it was a regular thing. If you have any insights into any of that, I'd appreciate it._

 _\- Tempest._

Tempest pulled a clean piece of parchment toward her, preparing to rewrite the letter neatly.

Eventually she dug through the still-unpacked boxes she had brought from Minnie's and sorted out the records she wanted to send. The actual letter she sent out, attached to a bundle of records, read:

 _Malfoy-_

 _Here are the records I promised. Send them back when you're done. Let me know if you like them. Hope your holidays are going well._

 _\- Tempest._

The days after the Ministry hearing went quickly. Order meetings were short and few people were filing through Grimmauld Place during the day. This was helpful, because the full moon was steadily approaching, and they were making plans for Tempest to join Padfoot and Moony on the night.

They holed up in the drawing room making plans for how to go about it: location, safety precautions and timeframes. Tempest had to batter down on some of Sirius and Remus' worrymongering though; she understood the risks. Sirius had gone out alone with Moony last full moon, and after so long, he had been unused to the hours long chase. He had returned the next morning limping severely from a gash torn deep into his thigh.

Tempest had panicked and shot upstairs to brew a pain-relieving and blood-replenishing potion. The potions ingredients she had leftover from the year thankfully were amongst the right ones, and she had brewed the potions in record time, dragging her cauldron into one of the bathrooms in Grimmauld Place and appropriating the room as a lab.

Finally, the night of the full moon arrived.

For tonight, Tempest had brewed a selection of health potions as a precaution, and stockpiled many bottles of the (very expensive) essence of dittany.

Remus spent the day at Grimmauld place, and as much as Tempest plied him with food, he looked gaunter than ever. A thin sweat covered him, and he paced anxiously, looking quite ill. Tempest was jittery with anticipation, and Sirius flitted about, much the same.

Finally, Sirius glanced at the clock on the wall, and said they should prepare to go.

Grimmauld Place was empty of all other Order members, and Tempest placed a ward on the door to her room, so that if anyone did arrive, she would be alerted.

"Alright, remember what I said?" Sirius said to Tempest at the door. They were all dressed lightly, regardless of the cold. They'd all be wearing fur soon, anyway. "If you feel someone breach the wards, let me know- three short barks, and we'll try to get away from Moony long enough for me to apparate you back to your room, okay? Otherwise, do not, for any reason, shift back to human until Moony has too. When it's your turn to lead, stay ahead of me. If Moony starts veering off track I'll curb him, okay?"

"Okay," said Tempest, bouncing on the heels of her feet, "for the nth time, I have it, Sirius, come on, we've been through this, let's go!'

"So eager to be out with a werewolf," said Remus wryly, looking strained; it was less than an hour till nightfall. "I really do fear for your sanity."

They hastened out of the house and out onto the front step where Sirius grasped Tempest's arm. "This can be a bit disorienting," warned Sirius, "don't let go of my arm no matter what and focus purely on me."

Tempest opened her mouth to say that she had apparated before, only to be swept away into a crushing blackness. There was pressure on every part of her body, all extremities being forced back into her torso, eyes pressing back into her head, ear drums feeling fit to burst. Tempest couldn't breathe; there was no space in her chest to fill her lungs with air, she was losing grasp of Sirius's arm. She dug her fingers in, and held on for dear life-

Her feet hit solid ground. The world burst back into life around Tempest and she gasped in a breath of air. Her knees gave out and she had to stumble sideways, almost knocking Sirius over as she did so. "Damn," she muttered, crumpling into a heap on the grass.

With a loud crack, Remus appeared beside them too, also losing his footing.

Sirius helped Tempest to her feet, steadying her as she wobbled.

"That was worse than the last time I did that," muttered Tempest. She supposed all her other injuries might've distracted from the awful sensation.

"Yeah it sucks, but you get used to it after a while," said Sirius, "I should teach you actually, if you pick it up as quickly as you did becoming-"

"Not to interrupt," interrupted Remus, hunching over with a groan, "but-"

"Right, sorry" said Sirius. He set aside the bag with the spare change of clothes he had brought for Remus, then said; "wards, Tempest-"

Where they stood, it was a densely wooded area, with thick grass underfoot and the barest glimpse of the night sky through the trees overhead, with the occasional ripple of air shimmering as they cast their wards.

They had apparated to some (hopefully) human-free woods near the edge of London, and the wards were just a precaution, but a much needed one. They were wards to contain Moony, wards to drive away anyone approaching, silencing charms to muffle Moony's snarls, and a heap more besides.

It took a good twenty or so minutes, twenty minutes which Remus spent with his face bone white, fingers clenching and unclenching in the grass. Tempest felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. "I've cast my wards," said Tempest, "Sirius, do we know when-"

A scream tore out of Remus's throat.

Tempest whipped around to stare at him wildly. He doubled over, groaning in pain, and Tempest took a step forward.

"Tempest, shift," yelled Sirius, and then he was on all fours as Padfoot, his hackles rising.

Remus' head snapped up, a snarl forcing itself out of his chest. His eyes were flickering a poisonous yellow.

Tempest dropped to all fours as Buck and backed away. She was growling too, she couldn't help it. Instinct drove her to bare her own fangs as she watched Remus's teeth elongate and sharpen.

The moon broke through the trees, hitting Remus directly. He screamed again, and Buck fought to remain where she stood. This was Remus, this was her _friend…_ His clothes tore apart, unable to accommodate for his expanding frame, the shreds of fabric falling to the grass. Fur began to spout over Remus's back, his face elongating horribly, his hands bending backwards with sickening cracks and his screams became more and more like growls.

Remus gave one last raw throated scream and with a final cracking tear, a large hulking wolf burst from his frame, snapping and snarling at her. Buck had watched him transform, but in his horrible yellow eyes, she only saw a burning hunger.

She shrunk back, but then Padfoot was barking, and Moony's head snapped in the dog's direction.

Padfoot gave loud yip and took off through the trees. Moony followed immediately, jaws snapping after Padfoot, claws tearing up the ground as he took off in pursuit.

Right, the plan.

Buck followed the pair, off to the side and through the trees. Padfoot would take point first, then Buck, and they would take turns throughout the night until Moony was worn out enough to become playful. It was a tried and true plan- the Marauders had used it back in their day. Prongs had been the fastest; he had taken point the most often and for the longest. With their shorter legs, Padfoot and Buck were fairly evenly matched.

So Padfoot fell back while Buck took the lead, bolting in between trees while Moony followed inches behind. There was still the sense of incredible fear flooding all of her senses, the need to get away from this predator that clearly ranked above all else in the world. The predator that was _right on her tail_ …

...then things went wrong.

Buck felt more than heard the tearing of earth behind her slow and then twist off to the side. She veered right just in time to see Moony lunge for Padfoot, who had been following close to Moony's flank.

Clearly startled, Padfoot barely managed to avoid Moony's outstretched claws, wheeling off and bolting in a new direction. Buck knew that Padfoot had not been prepared for it the sudden change in pace at all, and she threw herself after them. Buck forced her already burning legs to move faster. She ran in the center of the trail of devastation that Moony left in his wake, the splintered wood of the trunks and upturned earth that Buck bounded through. She had almost caught up when she heard a sound that made her heart constrict.

There was a sharp crack and Padfoot whined.

It was pure instinct that sent Buck hurtling through the trees and slamming into Moony, knocking him off Padfoot, who had been pinned to the ground.

Moony snarled, and rounded on Buck, his jaws dripping saliva as he slavered at the smaller wolf.

 _Calm down, Moony_ , Buck thought, backing away slowly. _Just calm-_

Moony lunged, and Buck whirled around, and ran.

Adrenaline pounded through her veins as she flew through the forest, concentrating on moving as fast and lightly as possible. Moony was hot on her heels. Merlin she hoped Padfoot was all right.

Then there was the cracking of branches from the side, and chancing a quick look to her left, Buck saw to her relief, Padfoot running alongside them. He was favoring his right foreleg, but running nonetheless.

Buck gave a breathless bark, and ran onwards.

They kept running. After half an hour, Buck fell back and Padfoot took the lead again. Moony seemed to have slowed down a fair amount, and Buck wasn't straining to keep her speed up anymore. Now that she was slower, the state of her body made itself known. Her entire left side was flaring with pain from slamming into Moony. She would have some wonderful bruises when she got back home.

She and Padfoot ran for hours, until finally, in the early hours of the morning, Moony's chase eased. Buck had been leading when it happened, and she gave a sharp bark, to which Padfoot replied with several of his own.

Moony's pace continued to decline until they could slow to a walk and she and Padfoot circled the werewolf, panting from exhaustion. Moony stopped altogether, slumping down in a heap in the grass, his massive head flopping down to rest on his paws, surveying the circling canines with yellow eyes that had lost their fire.

Buck decided it was safe and collapsed too. On the other side of Moony, she saw Padfoot mirror her.

Moony seemed content to doze in the grass, and eventually Padfoot nosed his way over to where Buck lay.

She snuffled at his injured leg, but Padfoot shook his shaggy head, indicating it was fine- for now. Communicating in their animal forms was a mix of impression and predetermined signals, and they had hashed out a workable system.

It was only through force of will, and Padfoot's occasional nudges that Buck did not fall asleep in the grass as they waited for dawn. She was exhausted, but there was always the chance she would accidentally shift back into a human if she fell asleep.

Moony roused himself close to dawn, and he seemed playful now, nipping at their heels affectionately and preferring to sharpen his claws on the thick roots of trees, rather than using them to slice into Buck or Padfoot's hides. The last few hours were rather fun actually, Buck thought, although it might have been part of the fatigue that slowed her thoughts.

Finally, the sun rose, and less than an hour later, Moony, in the middle of chasing his own tail, began to whimper in discomfort. Rays of sunshine were peering through a bank of clouds, and it filtered down through the canopy of the trees to where the three canines frolicked.

Moony curled in on himself and whined loudly. He began to shrink, the sound of cracking bones filling the air, and his receding fur seemed to melt away. It was several minutes before Remus slumped to the ground, stark naked where Moony used to be.

Padfoot gave a yip, telling Buck to wait a moment more, then when Remus remained motionless, he nodded and shifted back to Sirius.

Buck shifted back to Tempest, sitting boneless in the grass. Unable to speak, Tempest fell backwards and lay there dumbly, eyes only half-seeing the trees above her. She heard shuffling from where Sirius had been, and assumed he had done the same.

Moments passed.

After an age, Tempest twisted her neck to look around, wincing in pain as her entire body flared with pain. They were perhaps several meters from where they had started, having run circles around the entire forest. The place where Sirius had stowed Remus's clothes was a short walk away.

Tempest pushed herself up, groaning at the ache in her muscles, and glanced over at Sirius, lying flat on his back in the grass. She thought his forearm might be broken- how he had managed to run on all fours must have been a combination of adrenaline and sheer stubbornness.

Tempest got to her feet unsteadily, and staggered into a tree. She clutched at it, and anything else that came into reach, as she made her way slowly to where Remus' clothes were. When she got to them, she had to bend to pick them up, which sent her back into spasms and she wondered why she hadn't simply summoned them. Because she was an idiot, that was why. On the ground again, Tempest had never found grass and knobby roots so comfortable, so she lay her head down on Remus's clothes and decided to take a nap.

It was towards midday when Tempest woke to a gentle shake. She cracked one eye open, then the other. Remus was kneeling beside her, a still very naked Remus, clutching a bunch of leaves to himself. Tempest immediately lifted her head, letting Remus get to his clothes.

"Sorry," he apologized, shuffling away behind a tree to get changed.

"No problem," murmured Tempest, rubbing the last remains of stubborn sleep from her eyes. Her arm twinged with pain, and she lowered it. "How're you feeling?"

"Tired," came the answer, "but I can't really talk."

"You have as much right as the rest of us," said Tempest, trying to get to her feet. "Merlin that was a _run_... And you guys did this every full moon for three years? Did anyone ever notice you gone?"

"We were more discrete than most gave us credit for," replied Remus, "Peter didn't usually spend the whole time with us when I was Moony- his animagus form wasn't exactly suited- so he made our excuses. Most nights they would only distract Moony until I calmed down, then they would sneak back into bed so they were there in the morning. It was a far better time than me holed up in the Shrieking Shack the whole time clawing into myself." Remus emerged from the trees, now clothed and offered Tempest an arm up.

She clung to it, then leant heavily on his shoulder as they stumbled back to Sirius, who had inadvertently followed Tempest's example and was dozing peacefully with the midday sun casting beams of light over his peaceful features.

Tempest, unwilling to lean over, nudged him with her foot instead. He muttered something in his sleep and swatted in the opposite direction of her.

"Sirius!" said Tempest loudly.

Slowly, painstakingly slowly, Sirius's eyes blinked open, staring unfocusedly at Tempest. "You all right?" he asked.

"You're asking me that?" said Tempest in disbelief, "I'm fine, and you're the one with the broken arm- come on, home."

Time sped on, Sirius' arm healed quickly with magical aid, and soon the last days of the holidays arrived. Tempest received her booklists, with just the two new ones to be bought- _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5,_ by Miranda Goshawk and _Defensive Magical Theory,_ by Wilbert Slinkhard. She hadn't been to Diagon Alley since the beginning of the holidays when she was collecting funds from both her own and Sirius' Gringotts vaults, and now she was running low on her wizarding supplies.

Tempest set off for Diagon Alley on her bike, this time on the ground. She roared through the streets, helmet conveniently hiding her age, lessening the potential of being stopped and her non-existent license checked.

She went alone. She didn't think it was fair for Sirius to be cooped up in Grimmauld Place all the time, but going to Diagon Alley, the crowded wizarding hub where wanted posters of his face were still pinned up in storefronts was just tempting fate. Once or twice as she wove through the streets, Tempest thought she might have been followed, but she dismissed the idea quickly. She looked like a muggle on a bike, and her face wasn't visible from behind the helmet.

She parked the bike a street from the Leaky Cauldron, and flipped the anti-theft switch before walking off. Her bag with the undetectable extension charm was slung over her shoulder, and she made her way with her head ducked through the pub and through the magical wall onto the crowded cobblestoned road.

Many other Hogwarts students were buying their school things as well that day, and Tempest immediately spotted several Huffepuffs milling about outside Quality Quidditch Supplies. She tugged the hood of her jacket up over her head, and made her way to Flourish & Blotts. She found her textbooks, then added a bodice ripper she thought Sirius might enjoy to the pile, ignoring the odd look she received when she paid.

From there, Tempest stopped by the Magical Menagerie to pick up some new feed for Nyx, then she wandered down the Alley, browsing idly. She picked up some new quill tips and a supply of fine black ink for school. She had been using the supply that she had found in the desk of Sirius' father's office for her holiday homework, but as nice as it was, it felt vaguely wrong taking things from the house. Throwing things out though, now that was fine.

It was a warmer day than most, but still cool enough that no one gave Tempest a second glance for having her hood pulled low over her face. There were plenty of odd folks in the Wizarding community. So it was a surprise when she heard a voice say, not loudly, but distinctly- "Potter?"

Tempest made the mistake of reacting. She turned, and cursed her response. Now she'd have to speak to some likely uninformed twit who had been reading the Daily Prophet.

Instead, she came face to face with Malfoy.

"What're you doing here?" blurted Tempest.

Malfoy looked mildly surprised too, but he held up an envelope and flat package. "I was sending a letter- er…" here he stopped, and Tempest looked at him very oddly.

"Don't you have an owl?" she asked.

"It's off delivering something for my father," said Malfoy. He hefted the package again, and Tempest realized he was offering it to her. "I was sending it to you, actually, I'm returning your records," he expanded, when Tempest continued to look blankly at him.

"I did enjoy them," said Malfoy, when Tempest failed to respond, "very much. _Just_ in particular… Actually, as I'm seeing you now, you won't need the letter anymore-" He slipped the envelope into the pocket of his robes but continued holding the package out to her. "What brings you here as well?"

Tempest blinked her way out of her surprised stupor. She took the package and slid it under her arm. "New textbooks," she said. "Other odds and ends… so you liked them- that's great- I'm glad." She said the words very flatly, then cleared her throat and tried again. "I meant that, actually… I have… problems. Sounding genuine."

"I know," said Malfoy, with the hint of a smile, and Tempest tried to mimic it. "The booklists did come late this term, so I suppose a lot of Hogwarts students are getting their stuff now. Are you here alone?" Again Tempest stared at him, and he elaborated, "I'm here with my mother, she was getting my textbooks while I went to the post-"

"Oh, yes," said Tempest, a moment later wondering if it was the wrong thing to admit. Then she wondered if it was the _wrong_ thing. Because past Malfoy's shoulder, she saw an inconspicuous figure with peach coloured hair idling by the front of the ice cream shop.

"What?" she said.

"I asked if you'd like to get lunch," said Malfoy. "There's a place I know, it's quite close."

"I'd like to," said Tempest. Then, her mind caught up with her mouth, and she realized all of the problems with the statement. "I can't though, sorry." Again, her voice failed to express any sort of regret. "Your mother will be looking for you, won't she?"

"Well, not for a while," said Malfoy.

"I could probably get ice cream," offered Tempest.

They entered Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, and Tempest shot a hard look at Tonks as she passed. Tonks peered above the copy of the Daily Prophet she was holding close to her face, and winked at Tempest.

Malfoy bought some Swiss vanilla and nut combination, while Tempest selected a more modest lime sorbet. They sat at one of the outside tables, and Tempest leant back in her seat. "How've your holidays been then?" she asked.

"All right," said Malfoy, eating his ice cream very slowly in contrast to Tempest, who, regardless of the cool temperature, began wolfing hers down. "I've been doing a fair amount of flying."

Tempest grinned, "so have I." Although her flying had been done mostly on Sirius's bike. The heart of London wasn't exactly optimal for jaunts on her firebolt. She'd have to get back on her broom at Hogwarts before Quidditch season. She could hardly go into training rusty.

"We said we'd go flying, didn't we?" asked Malfoy.

"Did we?" said Tempest, trying to remember, "we _did_. Quidditch's back on this term, I'll be seeing you in the air then."

"Well yes, but that wasn't-" whatever Malfoy had been about to say cut off, and he looked up suddenly. "Mother!"

Tempest looked up too and got to her feet. Malfoy stood then as well, and the three of them were standing around the small table. Tempest felt very foolish, hood up and half-eaten ice cream in hand before Narcissa's perfectly groomed appearance.

"Miss Potter," she said coldly. "What a… pleasant surprise."

Tempest hastily swallowed the mouthful she had. "Pleasure's all mine, to be sure. I was just leaving," she looked at Malfoy and gave him a jerky nod. He said some sort of goodbye, and Tempest picked up her bag, making a hasty getaway down the street.

She had made it a good distance away and through a crowd of people before Tonks fell into step beside her.

"It's always nice to see dear aunt Cissy," she said, bouncing beside Tempest, her hair now a tomato-red and waist length. "And cousin Draco too… you two close?"

"She's your aunt?" asked Tempest in surprise, crunching into her cone and finishing it in record time.

"Well my mother- her sister, was disowned for marrying a muggleborn, so only by blood," replied Tonks cheerfully, "we're well shot of that crowd, thankfully. Your grandmother was a Black, wasn't she?"

"Probably." By now, Tempest was far too used to others knowing far more about her family history than she did. "Why're you following me?"

"Dumbledore's orders," said Tonks immediately. "You didn't think he'd leave you unprotected, did you? That's a very nice bike you have."

"It's Sirius' bike," said Tempest, "he gave it to me- did it not occur to anyone to _tell_ me I would be followed?"

"Well you don't go enough places without Sirius to need a guard," said Tonks, "and as for those outings, we aren't mentioning them, are we?" She tipped Tempest a wink, and Tempest had to smile.

"So I didn't know you were friends with little Draco," said Tonks as Tempest ducked into the apothecary for potions supplies.

"I wouldn't say we were friends," protested Tempest. Although, now that she thought about it, the term was scarily close to applying. "It's… a bit complicated. For all of the obvious reasons."

Tonks followed Tempest around the shop as she browsed through the supplies she was running low on. With those in a basket, she moved on to the rarer, more expensive ingredients. She was looking into the Wolfsbane potion again- anything to make the full moons easier on Remus. It wasn't the first time she had tried making the potion, but the first few attempts had failed dramatically. It was an incredibly difficult potion.

"Wolfsbane," noted Tonks, watching Tempest sort through the purple flowers. "You're making that for Remus?"

"Trying to," replied Tempest, surprised that Tonks knew based off the ingredients. Not a minute ago, Tonks had thought the collection of different pickled weeds were gut tonics. "It's a work in progress. I know Snape used to make it for him, and it helped, but he's not anymore and he's not likely to teach me. So I've been working on it when I have time."

Tonks was uncharacteristically quiet for several moments, and when she spoke again, she sounded quite subdued. "You're a good person, Tempest."

Tempest stopped, bemused. "Well- thanks? For thinking so? But… do you mean about Remus? I'd do most of anything for him- he's my friend."

Tonks said nothing, and pretended to be fascinated with the vials of manticore venom.

When she had her purchases in her bag, Tempest left the apothecary with Tonks and they walked back to where Tempest had parked her bike. It was far easier for them to travel back to Grimmauld Place together, so Tonks discretely transfigured herself a helmet from a knut she had in her pocket, and perched on the bike behind Tempest for the drive back.

They arrived to a crowded hall and based on the abundance of flame-haired people, it looked like all of the Weasleys had come for dinner. Tempest couldn't see Sirius, and Tonks slipped off, leaving Tempest to blink at the chaos. Was Mrs Weasley decorating?

"Ronnie got prefect," said George, appearing at Tempest's side. "Mum's over the moon, she's throwing a party."

" _Oh,_ " said Tempest, understanding all in a rush. "Well that's wonderful, good on him! Fourth prefect in the family, very nice."

"Mum was revolting," said George, "said 'that's everyone in the family!'"

"Well," said Tempest, leading George up the stairs so she could put away her purchases, "I don't think prefect was ever in the picture for you and Fred, do you?"

George laughed loudly. "That'd be the day."

"Is Hermione around as well?" asked Tempest. If Ron had been made Gryffindor prefect, the other one had to have been announced as well. Thinking of the other choices, she knew Hermione had to be prefect.

"Yup, she got prefect as well," said George, confirming it. "They're going to be insufferable about our joke shop ideas, aren't they?"

Tempest barely needed to think about it. "Hermione will be. She'll try and drag Ron into it, of course, jury's out on how that'll all end up. Still, maybe it'll be a good thing, might teach you and Fred to be a bit more subtle." She reached her room and George sat on the floor watching as she went about digging out the parcels from her bag.

"When has subtlety ever been part of our smashing personalities?" asked George, looking about Tempest's room curiously.

Tempest set aside the book she had gotten for Sirius and threw her jacket over a chair. Though the few large boxes she had brought from Minnie's remained largely unpacked, she had managed to transform her room into something with personality. There were a few framed pictures perched on Tempest's desk and nightstand, a forest green bedspread, the enchanted view from the window, and a few posters of her favourite bands. Her still unpacked books and clothes remained cast about the room where she had last thrown them, as though holding off packing would delay the time when she needed to leave.

"Chance'd be a fine thing," said Tempest dryly. She began picking up items of clothing and throwing them on top of her open trunk.

"Mum's getting Ron a new broom though," added George, "it would've been dress robes, but we already bought him some with… you know." When Tempest failed to say anything, he went on, "I didn't manage to say thank you properly the last time we were here," he said abruptly. "Tempest, that was beyond anything Fred or I could ever-"

"Don't," said Tempest, her back to George as she threw her new books on her bed and began unwrapping the parcel containing her returned records. "Really _don't._ You don't owe me a thing, the money wasn't mine."

"Still-"

" _George._ "

It was silent for a while, then Tempest left the rest of her packages sitting on her desk and straightened. She could pack the rest into her trunk later. "Come on, let's go down and help your mum."

Sirius was down in the kitchen with the rest of the Weasleys save Charlie and Percy, Remus was there was well, speaking to Tonks and Shacklebolt, and Tempest looked up at the scarlet banner that hung over the heavily laden dinner table, which read: **CONGRAGULATIONS RON AND HERMIONE – NEW PREFECTS**

"Tempest!"

Ron and Hermione emerged from the crowd. Hermione was beaming widely, while Ron looked a bit dumbstruck.

"We got prefect!" said Hermione unnecessarily- the banner was hard to miss- but Tempest grinned all the same and pumped Ron's hand up and down enthusiastically. She clapped Hermione on the shoulder.

"Well done," she said, "can't think of anyone better, Ron, I heard you got a new broom?"

That seemed to open the floodgates, and Ron was dragging Tempest over to where his new broom- a Cleansweep Seven was sitting. He began running through the specs, and Tempest noticed Fred close by, who bent down next to Ginny and muttered how disappointed he would be if she was made prefect in _her_ fifth year.

Sirius came by after a while, and Tempest left Ron to get a drink with him.

"How was your day?" he asked.

"Not bad," said Tempest, "I found you a book you might like, how was yours?"

"Really? Cheers, I'll give it a read later," said Sirius. "I spent some time with Buckbeak, the bird's getting restless. I might sneak out and take him for a flight at some point… and you know the drawer in the writing desk we've had problems with? Moody's confirmed it's a boggart, we can finally get rid of it."

" _Great_ ," enthused Tempest, "last night's the charm- the rattling's been doing my head in. Yours or mine?"

"Well I got rid of the ghoul that showed up last week," said Sirius pointedly.

"Fine, fine," laughed Tempest, "I'll take care of it before I shower."

She looked around the room, which was buzzing with conversation. Mad-Eye Moody was stumping around, and whatever he said to Ron made him look very alarmed indeed. Mundungus Fletcher was present as well, declining the offer to remove his oddly lumpy overcoat, and making a beeline for the drinks table.

"Well, I think a toast is in order," said Mr Weasley, when everyone had a drink. He raised his goblet. "To Ron and Hermione, the new Gryffindor prefects!"

Ron and Hermione beamed as everyone drank to them. There was light applause, then conversation started up again. "I was never a prefect myself," said Tonks brightly from behind Tempest as everybody moved toward the table to help themselves to food. "My Head of House said I lacked certain necessary qualities."

"Like what?" said Ginny, who was choosing a baked potato.

"Like the ability to behave myself," said Tonks.

Ginny laughed; Tempest toasted her. Hermione nearby, looked as though she did not know whether to smile or not and compromised by taking an extra large gulp of butterbeer and choking on it.

"What about you, Sirius?" Ginny asked, thumping Hermione on the back.

Sirius, who was standing by Tempest, let out his usual bark-like laugh. "No one in their right mind would have made me Prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Lupin was the good boy, he got the badge."

Remus, who had drifted closer to them, staggered with the force of the clap on the back Sirius gave him. "I think Dumbledore might have hoped that I would be able to exercise some control over my best friends," he said with a droll smile. "I scarcely need say that I failed dismally."

Sirius shrugged, "That was our own fault. You did your best Moony, can't fault you for that."

Meanwhile in a corner of the room, Tempest noticed the twins huddled with Mundungus, and she made her way over. Mundungus stopped talking when he saw Tempest, but George, recovered from their awkward parting before, winked and beckoned her closer. "It's okay," Fred was saying to Mundungus, "we can trust Tempest, she's our financial backer."

"Look what Dung's gotten us," said George, holding out his hand to Tempest. It was full of what looked like shriveled black pods. A faint rattling noise was coming from them, even though they were completely stationary.

"Venomous Tentacula seeds," said George. "We need them for the Skiving Snackboxes but they're a Class C Non-Tradeable substance so we've been having a bit of trouble getting hold of them."

"Ten Galleons the lot, then, Dung?" said Fred.

"Wiv all the trouble I went to to get 'em?" said Mundungus, his saggy, bloodshot eyes stretching even wider. "I'm sorry, lads, but I'm not taking a Knut under twenty."

"Dung likes his little joke," said Fred.

"Yeah, his best one so far has been six Sickles for a bag of knarl quills," said George.

"You drive a hard bargain," Tempest said dryly, "and as fun as this, I'd be careful, Moody could have his eye on you."

Mundungus looked nervously over his shoulder. "Good point, that," he grunted. "All right, lads, ten it is, if you'll take 'em quick."

"Cheers, Tempest!" said Fred delightedly, when Mundungus had emptied his pockets into the twins' outstretched hands and scuttled off toward the food. "Genius that was... We'd better get these somewhere safe..."

"Stow them in my room," suggested Tempest, "George, you know the way. I can get them to you on the train tomorrow."

"Bloody gold, you are," said George, and the twins left quickly.

Mad-Eye Moody's magical eye did not follow the twins, thankfully, and Tempest stepped up beside him to get at the food. He was sniffing at a chicken leg with what remained of his nose; evidently he could not detect any trace of poison, because he then tore a strip off it with his teeth. He grunted at her. "You all right, Potter?"

"Fine," said Tempest. She looked about the kitchen, bright and homely. Sirius had joined Remus and they were talking animatedly with Shacklebolt, who looked like the few drinks had loosened him up. "I'll just miss this place is all."

Moody took a swig from his hip flask. "Come here, I've got something that might interest you," he said. From an inner pocket of his robes Moody pulled a very tattered old Wizarding photograph. "Original Order of the Phoenix," he growled. "Found it last night when I was looking for my spare Invisibility Cloak, seeing as Podmore hasn't had the manners to return my best one... Thought people might like to see it."

Tempest took the photograph. A small crowd of people, some waving at her, others lifting their glasses, looked back up at her.

"There's me," said Moody unnecessarily, pointing at himself. The Moody in the picture was unmistakable, though his hair was slightly less gray and his nose was intact. "And there's Dumbledore beside me, Dedalus Diggle on the other side... That's Marlene McKinnon, she was killed two weeks after this was taken, they got her whole family. That's Frank and Alice Longbottom-"

Alice Longbottom looked very much like her son.

"Poor devils," growled Moody. "Better dead than what happened to them... and that's Emmeline Vance, you've met her, and that there's Lupin, obviously... Benjy Fenwick, he copped it too, we only ever found bits of him... shift aside there," he added, poking the picture, and the little photographic people edged sideways, so that those who were partially obscured could move to the front.

"That's Edgar Bones... brother of Amelia Bones, they got him and his family too, he was a great wizard... Sturgis Podmore, blimey, he looks young... Caradoc Dearborn, vanished six months after this, we never found his body... Hagrid, of course, looks exactly the same as ever... Elphias Doge, you've met him, I'd forgotten he used to wear that stupid hat... Gideon Prewett, it took five Death Eaters to kill him and his brother Fabian," Tempest reminded herself that they were Mrs Weasley's brothers. "...they fought like heroes... budge along, budge along..."

The little people in the photograph jostled among themselves, and those hidden right at the back appeared at the forefront of the picture.

"That's Dumbledore's brother, Aberforth, only time I ever met him, strange bloke... That's Dorcas Meadows, Voldemort killed her personally... Sirius, when he still had short hair... and... there you go, thought that would interest you!"

Tempest smiled down at a twenty year old Sirius. He'd be chuffed to know that Tempest's first thought was that he was well fit. There was ease in his bearing that twelve years of Azkaban hadn't yet stripped him of, but already, she could see the shadows behind his eyes.

Beside him James and Lily Potter were beaming up at her like they recognized their daughter. How old was she when the photo had been taken? Was it before or after she was born? Peter Pettigrew sat between them. He was smiling happily, not a hint of the traitor he was showing in his face.

"Eh?" said Moody.

Tempest looked up into Moody's heavily scarred and pitted face. Evidently Moody was under the impression he had just given Tempest a bit of a treat.

To see the old Order like that, smiling and waving with no idea of what was to come… What horrible fates had Moody listed off for them? And now the Order had reformed. There had been no commemorative photograph taken this time, but in _one_ year, in fifteen years, how much would change?

Tempest thought that if Cedric had lived, he would have joined the Order with her. He was one of the first casualties in a fight where he would not be the last.

"What've you got there, Mad-Eye?"

Sirius saved Tempest from having to reply to Moody as he sidled in to look at the photo.

"I'm going to head up to shower and pack," muttered Tempest, "I'll see you later, yeah?"

Tempest left the room. She went up the stairs, and she had passed the second floor landing before she remembered the boggart, and she went back down. She made her way towards the drawing room, cracking open the door and stepping in, stifling a sneeze at the dust in the room. It was one of the ones that she and Sirius hadn't cleared out.

Tempest readied herself, then flicked her wand at the rattling desk. " _Alohomora_."

The drawer flew open and Tempest waited for the dementor to emerge.

The desk stopped rattling, and instead shivered once, before falling still. Tempest took a cautious step forward. Was this some new tactic of the boggart's?

Then Tempest saw a figure unfolding out of the desk drawer. _Finally._

But the air did not chill, and the shadowy figure was the wrong shape for a dementor- the shape stepped into a patch of moonlight, and Tempest felt her mouth dry. Remus had once thought that her boggart would be Voldemort. It seemed now, two years later, he had been proven right.

" _Tempest Potter,_ " hissed Voldemort. His eyes gleamed red across the room, his voice low and intimate. " _Join me._ "

"No," said Tempest, backing away. For a moment, she forgot it wasn't Voldemort and she stumbled back, "no, no, no..."

Voldemort drifted closer to Tempest. " _I'd let them live,_ " he breathed, " _Black, the werewolf… your friends, blood traitors and mudbloods alike. Think of what I have done… what I plan to do… think of the horrors you could spare them..._ "

Tempest shook her head, mouthing wordlessly. She had to reassure herself that Sirius and Remus were downstairs, that she was not facing Voldemort, only a pale representation of him, with nothing to offer her and nothing to threaten. "Never _._ "

" _Then I will kill all those you care for,_ " he whispered, " _they will die screaming with the knowledge that you could have saved them. I will hunt them down, you last of all and then, I will make_ you _scream._ "

He plunged a hand into the pocket of his robes, but Tempest was already holding her wand.

" _Incendio._ "

Voldemort howled with rage, and his entire form flickered. His robes had caught fire, then it was the cowl of a dementor, the flash of a clown, an inconspicuous kind-eyed man with dirty blonde hair, Voldemort again.…

" _Incendio._ "

The next blast of fire Tempest sent at the boggart enveloped the ever changing form, and through the glowing red and orange flames, Tempest saw the boggart shrivel and wither, until all that lay in the patch of moonlight was a pile of ash. Smoke filled the room, and Tempest coughed several times before she managed to cross the floor to open the windows and clear it from the air. Then, Tempest left the room, closing the door behind her with a snap.

She crashed to the ground. Groaning, she pushed herself up, hands buried in long, uncut grass.

"Tempest?"

"Here," she called, grasping at the pitted surface of a headstone to steady herself. "No disrespect meant, mate," she muttered.

Cedric appeared from the darkness. "Bit strange, this."

"Just a bit." She looked around at the graveyard. The Triwizard Cup sat on the arm of a marble archangel a good distance away. Twisted trees grew in the spaces between graves, and a mist hung low about the ground, wafting about her knees. She got out her wand.

"What've you got after this?" she asked as they began walking toward the cup. "I'm looking forward to see Sirius again, we're going for chips- don't tell Dumbledore."

"Oh don't worry," said Cedric cheerfully. He ducked under a gnarled branch that curved down into their path. "I'm just having dinner with my parents after. I'll introduce them to Cho, she's really great, they'll like her."

"So you're really keen on her?"

"Sure as anything," said Cedric, the Triwizard cup casting its glow upon their faces as they drew closer. "Hey, is the ground moving?"

Hands, rotting scrabbling hands were pushing their way up through the dirt, grabbing at their shoes, their robes-

Horror stuck in her throat. "Up!" she yelled.

They sprinted for a tree. It was large up close, knots and crumpling bark that her hands and feet grasped at as she hauled herself higher. Below, cloaked and masked figures were rising from the ground. They turned their bone white masks up at them, watching.

" _Lynfir!_ "

One weak tendril of lightning sparked into existence, and fizzled out.

" _Incendo, Lapsus, Stupefy!_ "

Her wand crackled and died- she watched it shrivel in her hand, to a splintered twig.

The wood of the tree shivered beneath her hands. It began to move, rippling and morphing. Her hands were stuck to the tree; she could not pull back if she had wanted to, but there were death eaters below…

Cedric was above her, shining a ghostly grey. He was scrambling along a thick branch, curved down in the direction of the Triwizard cup. He was so close, he could almost reach out and touch it. But the stone angel began to move. It drew away even as Cedric lunged forward.

And there, there suspended in the air close to them, was Voldemort. His arms were extended, dark robes flaring about him. His pale face glowed in the darkness. He raised his wand.

Her hands unstuck. She fell backwards, down toward the faceless crowd. " _CEDRIC!"_

The world lit in green.

Cedric flushed with light. His hair shone gold, his robes dirt smudged yellow. Red blood ran down the side of his face. There was dull green grass sticking to his face and front. His hand still outstretched, he fell.

" _CEDRIC!_ "

Tempest bolted upright in bed, heart hammering in her chest.

She was covered in a sheen of sweat, the bedclothes twisted and tangled about her legs. She kicked herself free and with the sound of her heart still pounding in her chest, she crossed the room to where the curtains were and yanked them open.

The ocean sprawled out before her, moonlight-tipped waves rolling gently in from the entrance of the cove. Tempest stood at the enchanted window, hands braced against the wood of the sill. She couldn't hear the crash of the waves, or the call of the gulls, but she could hear Sirius's deep breathing from the room beyond.

She tried to calm down, to slow the harsh sound of her breathing, to compress her chest to slow the beating of her heart. Realizing it was fruitless, Tempest threw on a dressing gown and went downstairs through the empty house to the living room, finding her way easily in the dark.

It was never cold in Grimmauld Place, but Tempest curled up in an armchair, robe tucked around her, and shivered.

The world had closed in around her, making everything very small and tiny. Even now, Voldemort's scarlet eyes burnt from his ghastly face, and Cedric's eyes reflected green as he toppled…

Tempest reached out of her chair for the nearest object- a silver candlestick, and hurled it at the opposite wall. She wanted to _yell,_ or shout, and instead a harsh, pathetic sound strangled it's way out of her throat.

A footstep sounded behind Tempest's chair, and she twisted around wildly, reaching for a wand that wasn't there.

"Just me," said Sirius quietly, coming around to face her openly.

"Sirius," said Tempest, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. She had thrown a candlestick at a wall because… because of what? A nightmare? Sirius moved closer to sit on the arm of the chair, and Tempest pulled her knees to her chest. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's no trouble," said Sirius. "What do you need?"

Tempest closed her eyes, a bitter taste forming in her mouth. "I need this world to be _better._ "

Sirius gave a quiet laugh.

They sat in the dark together.

"Do you want to talk about it?" offered Sirius.

Tempest thought about it. She could speak of her new boggart, of Voldemort's offer. Even now, there was so much she hadn't told him, and she would be leaving tomorrow.

"My scar's been burning on and off," she said eventually. "I hadn't said anything because I suppose now that Voldemort's back, it'll be happening a lot more. It's a constant reminder- not that I needed one. As if I didn't have every moment of that night seared into my brain already.

"I keep dreaming about Cedric too," she said, "I barely knew him when he was alive, but now he's dead I feel as though we have some sort of connection… I _know_ we don't, but I can't stop dreaming about him. I usually cope better than this. It's stuck behind my eyes, this image of him falling. He's got dirt and blood in his hair, he's so close to getting away, his whole life ahead of him, and he's just… falling.

"I never see him hit the ground. Not once, like he's being kept in the air in memoriam or some shit. He had a _life,_ friends, family, a girlfriend… he was going to _do_ things, _good_ things, he was that sort of person, and in one moment, all of it, it was just _gone._ "

At some point, Sirius' arm had come across Tempest's shoulders, and she was half-swallowed in his embrace. He said nothing, and he let her talk until she just stopped and they sat there, enveloped in darkness like they were hiding from the world.

And they were.

Because Cedric's killer was out there, along with all of his followers who were prepared to do the same and worse… even without accounting for the rest of the depravity of humanity…

"There's all of this _shit_ in the world," said Tempest, "and _I don't know what to do with it._ "

Here she was, with Sirius, living in the nice house with the nice things, and it was the happiest she thought she had ever been. But all of it was a placeholder against everything else out there. This was an escape, it wasn't a permanent reality, and Tempest selfishly, hatefully, didn't want to leave.

"It feels like I'm suffocating sometimes," said Tempest tightly, and only now did her voice strangle in her throat, "and I think the only reason I haven't imploded is you _._ "

Slowly, ever so slowly, Sirius spoke. "I dream about drowning," he said quietly. "Ever since the swim from Azkaban to shore, when it was freezing, and everything else seemed so far away. In my dreams, I drown, alone and in the dark. What I'm saying Tempest… is I didn't have anything to hang on to then. Not finding Pettigrew, not making things right, not even you, because you were a faceless person I didn't know. But I went on, because I had to. And I think you're just as capable, if not more, of getting on.

"Things happen, and I don't know what to do with them either, but that's just the way things are." Sirius sucked in a deep breath. "So come on." He got off the chair and tugged Tempest up onto her feet.

"Where are we going?" asked Tempest, bemused.

"Kitchen," said Sirius, "I'm going to make you a cup of tea. You're heading back to Hogwarts tomorrow, and we're both up at three in the morning. What better thing is there to do?"


	4. This Leaving Buisness

**_Chapter Four-_**

Tempest was exhausted the next morning, and she sat with her trunk yawning at everything as they waited for the guard (Remus, Tonks and Sturgis Podmore) that Dumbledore had deemed it necessary for her to have. She found the proceedings to be all a bit paranoid- Kings Cross wasn't much of a walk away- she had gone out further than that with just Sirius, although no one was telling Dumbledore that.

There were delays as Moody wanted to wait for Podmore, but they left eventually without him. Stepping out into the weak September sunlight, Padfoot bounded by at Tempest's side. Remus made a half-hearted statement that Dumbledore wouldn't like it, but he grinned with Tempest as they watched Padfoot gambol around, snapping at pigeons.

Tempest thought if Dumbledore had a problem with Sirius leaving the house, he could tell them so personally. She hadn't seen much of him lately, and for someone who saw them so little, he dictated the contents of their personal lives a lot.

Tonks walked ahead of them, grey haired and wearing a purple hat shaped like a porkpie. On the twenty-minute walk to King's Cross, nothing of note happened other than Padfoot's hijinks, and Tempest found the two flanking her to be rather amusing. She cast a glance at Remus, who strode by her carrying the unhappy Nyx's carrier. Well. There were some benefits.

Her trunk, heavier than previous years, trundled along behind her. The sheer amount of potions ingredients and books that Tempest had crammed into her trunk accounted for most of the bulk. In addition to her usual school things, she had stacks of books on magical theory that Sirius had given her from the Black library and cases of ingredients for the Wolfsbane potion she planned to work on.

Packing sleep deprived in the nighttime hours was very inefficient, Tempest had learnt. The finished product was nowhere as neat or organized as what Minnie had achieved last year, she had managed to force her trunk closed by virtue of Sirius sitting on it, and Tempest fastening the buckles with magic.

Platform Nine and Three Quarters was packed with departing students and their families when they emerged from the barrier. Remus gave Tempest a parting hug. "You take care of yourself," he said. He handed Nyx back and slid away with Tonks into the crowd.

"Nice dog, Tempest," called Lee Jordan, passing by.

"Thanks," grinned Tempest. Padfoot wagged his tail frantically.

Tempest usually headed straight onto the train, but for the first time, she remained in the crowd. She knelt down next to Padfoot and hugged him long and hard.

"I'll see you at the full moon," she muttered quietly, knowing he could hear her. "Don't let Kreacher get you down."

The Hogwarts Express blasted steam into the air, and she rose to her feet, grasping her trunk and Nyx's carrier tightly. For one brief moment, Padfoot reared onto his hind legs and placed his front paws on Tempest's shoulders. Tempest grinned and pressed her forehead against his. The warning whistle sounded, and he dropped back to the ground.

Tempest boarded the train, and it began to move almost immediately. She had been the last to board the train, and the other stragglers quickly left, dragging their trunks and other bags with them as they filed along the narrow corridor and into compartments. She did not follow.

Instead, she stayed by the open window, watching the other faces on the platform quickly blur as the train began to move faster, but Tempest watched Padfoot bound alongside the window, chasing the train until they turned the corner, and he was gone.

Still she stayed there, standing by the window with the wind whipping her hair back as she gazed out at the houses flashing past.

"Tempest?"

It was George. He jerked his head down the corridor and said, "Fred and I've got a compartment to ourselves, want to join?"

Tempest stowed her trunk after extracting the Venomous Tentacula seeds for the twins, and the three of them settled down with several sheafs of parchment filled with their recipes for the Snackboxes. It was all ingenious, without a doubt. Their plans were amazing and detailed, and Tempest was intrigued with their diagrams of their other projects, punching telescopes, decoy detonators and one that fascinated Tempest particularly- a portable swamp.

"How do you account for the depth of the water?" she said, poring over the spellwork. "it's not just vanishing the existing ground, or forcing it aside… you're temporarily displacing it- _genius._ And the wildlife? This is doing my mind in, this must have taken you _months._ "

"We've been working on all of it for _years,_ " said George proudly, "the bugs and stuff are just illusions for now. We're thinking if we spelled some into existence it would make them far harder to vanish, which is great for a prank, but less 'portable.'"

Tempest leant back in her seat. "So you two are really going out with a bang."

"Busy, busy," agreed Fred, "some of our products are already ready for sale- extendable ears, the toffees, then we're going to sign up students for testing our projects- fully consenting of course, and we'll pay them for their trouble-"

"-and amongst all of that we'll put on a show for the school," added George, "wouldn't want our legacy to be forgotten."

"For starters, we spiked most of the food trolley with a babbling potion earlier," said Fred.

"You gave us the idea actually," said George, beginning to fish about in his pocket for something. "That story you told us about your dear uncle spiking the feast food with a weightless potion- we thought, why not put our own spin on it? Which reminds me- here." He pulled a paper bag from his pocket and tossed it at Tempest.

She pulled it open and grinned. "Saved some food for me? How sweet." She pulled out a slightly squashed cauldron cake and bit into it. "I'll tell the Lord Charles Eastermont you do him proud."

The train rattled onward, speeding them out into open country. It was an odd, unsettled sort of day; one moment the carriage was full of sunlight and the next they were passing beneath ominously gray clouds.

Many times, Tempest looked up and out of their compartment to see a couple of Hogwarts students making their way down the corridor, gabbling absolute nonsense to themselves. They threw filthy looks at the twins as they went by.

"It'll wear off in a couple hours," Fred called after them, cackling.

Ron and Hermione arrived from prefect duty later in the train ride, and to say that neither of them were pleased with the twins would have been an understatement.

"It really isn't funny," said Hermione huffily, "you doubled the workload we had going around the train patrolling, and _Finite Incantatem_ doesn't work- how did you _do_ that?"

"Now, now," said George, stowing his wand away from quickly vanishing their stacks of parchment, "that would be telling."

"Guess who the Slytherin prefects are though," Ron said to Tempest, "Greengrass and _Malfoy_."

"Of course," said Tempest, completely unsurprised. She was more surprised that Malfoy hadn't brought it up when she had seen him in Diagon Alley. "The Greengrass girl, who is she?"

"She's actually quite nice," replied Hermione, "I've spoken to her in the library once or twice. She's very quiet though, I'm not sure how she'll handle unruly students."

"We can't stay, we're meant to patrol the corridors every now and then," said Ron, and a glint came into his eye. "I can't wait to get Crabbe and Goyle for something…"

"You're not supposed to abuse your position, Ron!" said Hermione sharply.

"Yeah, right, because Malfoy won't abuse it at all," said Ron sarcastically.

"So you're going to descend to his level?"

"No, I'm just going to make sure I get his mates before he gets mine. Although…" he looked at Tempest speculatively. "I hadn't noticed him being such a git last year. Don't suppose you know anything?"

"I haven't really spoken to him since the ball," lied Tempest, "People change. Maybe he grew up."

The last time Tempest had sat in the Great Hall, it had been the leaving feast, and Dumbledore had toasted Cedric Diggory. The Sorting Hat's new song about unity in troubled times inspired the same sort of whispers to spread across the hall.

Tempest remembered the disbelief that had filled the room when Dumbledore had spoken of Voldemort. Remembered pale faces that turned inward, skeptical and dismissive. Now the same faces were looking down at their plates, as though too embarrassed by the perpetuation of the lie that Voldemort had returned.

She could feel the looks cast her way as well. She knew what the Prophet was saying, knew that she appeared to be delusional- driven insane. It was fine. They could have theirs.

Dinner begun, and Ron managed to insult Nearly Headless Nick, who was touchy at the best of times, but Ron seemed to find the best ways to put his damningly corporeal foot into his equally solid mouth. Hermione began bickering with him, and Tempest tuned the pair of them out. She poked at her potatoes.

It was far removed from Kreacher's begrudgingly cooked meals, and the fairly repetitive takeout that they had at Grimmauld Place. Tempest tugged her mug of tea closer toward her. Even the blend was different. She wondered what Sirius was doing at the moment. Were any of the Order members over? She felt certain Remus had stayed. He and Sirius might have been having drinks by the fire at that very moment.

Tempest was struck with a feeling so intense she blinked down at her tea for several seconds before she managed to swallow and _think_ again. For the first time in her life, she felt homesick.

It was ridiculous. She was at Hogwarts- Hogwarts which had been her favourite place, filled with magic and mystery… except Tempest looked around the hall at people who had ducked to avoid her gaze on the way to the Great Hall, who had thrown her frightened or pitying gazes on the train, and suddenly the school seemed colder, more foreign.

There was a rift that Tempest felt had formed between her and the school, a rift that made an empty feeling start in the pit of her stomach, regardless of how much potatoes and ham she sent to join it.

Umbridge's speech did little to help how ill at ease Tempest was beginning to feel. Ministry interference after they had made their stance regarding Voldemort's return perfectly clear did not bode well in the slightest.

To cap it all off, it seemed the first years were frightened of her too. After one of the firsties audibly shirked away while filing past Tempest, she bared her teeth and let a flash of the wolf cross her face.

It would just look like a trick of the light, but it was enough for the first years to squeak and scurry past her as quickly as possible. Tempest thought it was entirely worth it, and leaned over to Hermione, who was currying the last students after Ron.

"What's the password for the Fat Lady?" asked Tempest.

" _Mimbulus mimbletonia,_ " replied Hermione, scowling as Ron set off very quickly, leaving the first years to run to keep pace with his longer steps. "It's a rare plant."

"Couldn't have come up with one less than eight syllables, could they?" said Tempest wryly. "I'll see you up there."

Tempest's luggage and Nyx had already been moved up to her dormitory, and she entered the room to find Nyx already making herself comfortable at the end of her bed. Lavender and Parvati had arrived before her, and were speaking in hushed voices that stopped abruptly as she walked in.

Tempest paid them no mind and set about unpacking. Some items went in her nightstand, others she left safe in her warded trunk. Lavender and Parvati were pinning up posters around their beds, arranging pictures on their nightstands. Tempest went for a shower and on return, was searching for a book in her trunk when Lavender spoke to her.

"So... You said you saw you-know-who come back?"

Bent over her trunk, Tempest closed her eyes briefly. Book found, she straightened up, closing her trunk and ensuring her wards were in place. "I did."

"Well," said Lavender slowly, "how do we know it's really true? I mean," she glanced over her shoulder back to Pravati for support, and emboldened, she rushed on. "Dumbledore said that he was back, but only because you said so. It's not like you have proof."

She was looking at Tempest with very wide blue eyes and Tempest found herself noticing just how foolish and weak Lavender's face was. The suffocating feeling that surfaced every time she thought about the graveyard had returned.

When she had been fighting for her life, when she had watched Cedric die, she hadn't been thinking about _this._

"So don't believe me," Tempest said very calmly. "That's not my problem."

And she got into bed and drew the curtains around it, warding them as well.

She propped the book up on her knees and read about the nuances of the transmittance of magic from one source to another until Hermione had come up and all the other girls had gone to bed. Tempest knew she had risen early that day and she had class tomorrow, but she continued reading into the night until her eyes ached and the words began bleeding together before her eyes.

Finally, she extinguished the light from her wand and lay back against the pillows.

Nyx lay on Tempest's legs, a warm comforting presence.

Hogwarts was one of Tempest's favourite places in the world. But as she lay there in the darkness, Tempest missed the yell of 'goodnight' through the wall to Sirius, missed the sound of his snoring in the next room. She missed hearing the sounds of the house at night, of Kreacher moving around downstairs.

When she finally fell asleep, she dreamed of long echoing corridors and echoes of Cedric's name ringing in her mind.

Tempest, was sitting in the Great Hall, eating her toast and her customary cup of tea when a pack of fourth year Ravenclaws passed by her, shooting her scared glances as though they expected her to draw her wand and begin cursing them.

She was momentarily tempted, but decided against it. She contented herself with crunching particularly vigorously into her slice of toast and winced in pain as she bit herself. She scowled and reached for her cup of tea.

"How'd you like being dubbed disturbed?" asked George, startling Tempest and making her slop scalding tea over her hand.

Tempest swore loudly. A second year a few meters away shot her a frightened look, and Tempest snarled inarticulately. George chose that exact moment to steal a piece of toast from her plate.

Tempest glared for a moment, then sighed, "fuck you, George." He grinned at her, and Tempest had to concede that her anger was draining away quickly enough that she felt foolish holding a grudge when he was one of the few that she had no cause to be irritated with.

"I suppose I didn't have to fight for a seat at the table today," she admitted. "People have been parting for me like I have the plague."

George whistled. "See, not bad. What'd you think it'd take for me to get put in the paper somewhere for being mental?"

Tempest shrugged. "Do some of the stuff I did."

"I don't think anyone could do what you do," laughed George.

The post owls arrived then with a great _whoosh_ and clatter. They showered breakfasters with droplets of water from the heavy rainfall outside. Tempest looked up instinctively, then ducked her head again. Wishful thinking- she had seen Sirius just yesterday.

"Oh, Angelina was here before," added George, distracting her. "She told me tell you that Keeper tryouts are on Friday at five, and she wants you there so the whole team can be present to see how the new person will fit in."

"So she got made Quidditch captain?" said Tempest. "Nice. Hopefully she'll ease up on the pep talks. Oliver's were enough to want to shove him through a few hoops-"

Minnie swatted at the back of Tempest's head as she passed by, handing out the Gryffindor timetables.

"Sorry Professor," smiled Tempest, as Minnie walked away, then glanced down at her timetable and groaned. "I'm fucking exhausted. History of Magic, Double Potions with the Slytherins, Divination, and Double DADA… just bloody brilliant for the first day back."

"But you like potions and DADA."

"I like making the potions and DADA is great _with the right teacher_ ," said Tempest. "I'm sure you recall who teaches both."

"I'd offer you a Snackbox, but I'm not sure if you'd like the side effects."

"Maybe another day," said Tempest, glancing up as Hermione approached. "What's wrong now-"

"This!" snapped Hermione, slamming a piece of parchment down in front of them.

Tempest picked it up, recognizing George's handwriting.

 ** _Gallons of Galleons!_**

 _Pocket money failing to keep pace with your outgoings? Like to earn a little extra gold? Contact Fred and George Weasley, Gryffindor common room, for simple, part_ _‐_ _time, virtually painless jobs. (We regret that all work is undertaken at applicant's own risk.)_

George looked up at Hermione innocently. "What's wrong with it? We were completely honest!"

"Look, you can't advertise for testers on the Gryffindor notice boards," said Hermione.

"And why not?" Fred asked, sliding down the bench toward them.

"Because I say so!" Hermione declared. "And so does Ron!" she added as an afterthought.

Ron, who had just arrived at their table in the Great Hall, seemed to choke on his own spit as he met two pairs of glaring eyes.

"Really?" said Fred dangerously.

"Leave me out of this," Ron said, holding his hands up defensively.

"Hermione, calm down," George said, looking unconcerned as he took a long draught of pumpkin juice. "It's all for your benefit in the long run. It's a nightmare of a year, the fifth," said George. "If you care about exam results, anyway. Fred and I managed to keep our peckers up somehow."

"So you say," Fred said, giving George a look that Tempest couldn't decipher. "While certain other some of us were keeping their spirits up, certain other some of us went against everything that we had said we would do in OWL year and got actual good marks."

"Oh come on!" George complained, "Just because I decided to do a bit of last minute studying doesn't mean that I took them seriously."

"Lay off him," sighed Tempest, recalling that while Fred had scraped the barest of grades, George instead had managed several EEs.

"Regardless," said Fred, "we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement."

Hermione looked scandalized. "You're going to flunk your NEWTS?"

"Oh come off it Hermione," Fred said, "Did you really think we'd try any harder for them than we did for the OWLS? We weren't even going to come back this year-"

"Well then, why did you?" Ron asked, peering around Hermione.

Fred shot George another glance that looked almost accusing.

"We uh," George began uncomfortably, "Well I thought that there might be some things at Hogwarts that might- that is to say that I thought… We figured mum wouldn't be able to take us leaving school early… not with Percy turning out to be the world's biggest prat."

Tempest wondered at his stuttering. "I thought you said it was all about the legacy- and to do some market research, figure out what demand there was."

"That," said George, nodding emphatically. "Is what I meant to say."

Tempest gave him a very odd look. "You haven't accidentally sniffed any of the prototype potions I gave you, right? I told you _specifically_ not to-"

"You're helping them?" Hermione asked in horror, "It's OWL year, Tempest! You won't have time!"

Tempest waved her off, quickly tiring of the scrutiny. "I'll be fine. A bit of fun never hurt anyone-"

"But OWLS are important!" Ron said, sounding a lot like Hermione at that moment. "They affect the jobs you can apply for and everything…"

"Ron, at the moment, everyone thinks I'm insane," said Tempest slowly. "No one's going to _want_ to give me a job regardless of my grades… beyond that…" Tempest thought about the dementors in Little Whinging, the fact that Sirius was still wanted for mass murder. She thought about Cedric Diggory, who would have been graduating that year if things had been different. "I've got other things to worry about."

History of Magic reintroduced the same sort of monotony that had characterized her last days of Hogwarts in the past term. It was wrong that Tempest felt so tired of school- it was _magic school._ Never as a child had she ever through this was possible… only hadn't she?

She had always known she was different; what other child had she known who could speak to snakes, spark life into dead flowers and leap off two story rooftops only to land lightly on the ground? And when Minnie had appeared in an alleyway from thin air and told Tempest she was a witch, it had felt less like a shock, and more like validation.

Still, she couldn't have accounted for everything that had happened since.

Professor Binns, of course, was oblivious to any change in his class, and he droned on for forty-five minutes about the giant wars, a subject only he could make dull. Double Potions was after, and Tempest filed into the dungeon after Ron and Hermione, the three of them settling down at their usual table near the back.

Snape's mere presence ensured the class's silence, and he began with a speech about OWLS and those who he would gladly see leave his class next year. He sneered down at them all from behind his desk, and Tempest wondered why on earth someone like Snape had ever chosen to become a _teacher_ of all professions.

This class, she was perfectly capable of enjoying, although all of that hinged on how much Snape ignored her in the lesson. It was a return to form, to see him in his teaching capacity. Their interaction in Order meetings was next to none, and Snape had left as quickly as possible after them. He had been almost frighteningly civil throughout the holidays, and now that they were back at Hogwarts, Tempest wondered if he would have changed at all.

They started on the assigned potion: the Draught of Peace. Tempest was partnered with Hermione at their workstation, which suited her very well. It was easy to distinguish between their separate workspaces as Hermione kept her ingredients neatly placed, in order of the ones she would be needing to use first, while Tempest's side was a mess of ingredients easily within reach, then tossed aside once Tempest was done with them.

It was a very precise potion, and more finicky than any others that they had brewed in class before, but Tempest quickly caught her stride, and by the time Snape swept around their workstations, he could only comment on the mess of her ingredients, and not her potion itself.

"How did you get that?" hissed Hermione from beside Tempest.

Tempest cast a quick look at Hermione's potion. It was easily the best of the rest of the class's but the silver vapor that drifted up from the surface of her liquid held a slightly grey tinge, and wasn't as thick as Tempest's.

"Give it another stir," said Tempest, after peering into her cauldron, careful not to breathe in. "Clockwise this time. It'll help the moonstone bond with the hellebore."

"Are you sure?" said Hermione doubtfully, looking again at the instructions on the board, then down at her potion.

Tempest shrugged. "Take a risk."

Hermione hesitated, then added the extra stir. She relaxed as the liquid and vapour turned the same shade and consistency as Tempest's. "I don't know how you do it Tempest," she said, moping sweaty strands of hair away from her face. "With the amount that you muck about, and the fact that you rarely study, you shouldn't be this good."

"Cheers," grinned Tempest. She carefully corked her vial of potion and labeled it clearly. She deposited it on Snape's desk and walked away. She could feel her mood beginning to lift.

Divination soon remedied that though. It was easily Tempest's least favorite class, an utter waste of time and an assault on Tempest's senses to boot. "Why did we take this?" she asked Ron, as she flipped open _The Dream Oracle_ by Inigo Imago. Incense swirled about in the air, and Tempest pinched the bridge of her nose to stop her eyes from watering.

"Dunno, mate," sighed Ron, "thought it'd be a laugh. I reckon Hermione had the right idea, walking out. Surprised you didn't either..."

"I couldn't very well have left you here all on your lonesome," said Tempest, and they exchanged a grin before ducking their heads and beginning to read.

The one good thing to be said for the lesson was that it was not a double period. By the time they had all finished reading the introduction of the book, they had barely ten minutes left for dream interpretation. At the table next to Tempest and Ron, Dean had paired up with Neville, who immediately embarked on a long-winded explanation of a nightmare involving a pair of giant scissors wearing his grandmother's best hat; Tempest merely looked over at Ron skeptically.

"I never remember my dreams," said Ron. "You say one."

"Give me anything," said Tempest. She'd be damned if she was to share any of hers. "It's not as if any of this matters."

"Well, I had one that I was playing Quidditch the other night," said Ron, screwing up his face in an effort to remember. "What d'you reckon that means?"

"By my reckoning, that you enjoy a good match," said Tempest dryly, flicking through the pages of The Dream Oracle without interest. "According to this book? You'll probably be eaten by some fire-breathing pig."

When the bell went, they were tasked with keeping a dream diary for a month as homework. This topped the potions homework they had been set (twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and it's uses in potion making, due Thursday) and Ron led the way back down the ladder, grumbling loudly.

"All I'm saying is that the Umbridge woman had better not give us any more homework," he said, "I feel done in already."

As it turned out, Tempest never managed to find out what homework was set.

The class began without promise, and Tempest sat itching in her own skin as she attempted to read Slinkhard's book. The books that Sirius had given her on magical theory were far superior; they actually _meant_ something. It was almost a relief to see Hermione hadn't begun reading and was instead looking determinedly at Umbridge with a raised hand. Umbridge however, looked just as fixedly in the opposite direction.

The book was so tedious that it wasn't long until most of the class was looking at Hermione rather than their books, and finally, Umbridge seemed to decide she could not ignore the situation any longer. "Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" She asked Hermione, as though she had only just noticed her.

"Not about the chapter, no," Hermione replied.

"Well, we're reading just now," said Umbridge, showing her small pointed teeth. "If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a query about your course aims," said Hermione.

Umbridge raised her eyebrows. "And your name is?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," said Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness.

"Well, I don't," said Hermione bluntly. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."

Tempest's eyes flickered to the board and scanned through the few sentences. ( _1\. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic._ _2\. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used._ 3\. _Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use._ )

Hermione was right. But surely it wasn't possible- the Ministry couldn't- _wouldn't_ prevent them from learning practical defense, would they? It was downright backwards…

"Using defensive spells?" Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron exclaimed loudly.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr‐?"

"Weasley," said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.

Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him.

Hermione's hand was in the air again, and Umbridge addressed her. "Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes," said Hermione. "Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry‐trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" asked Umbridge, in her falsely sweet voice.

"No, but ‐"

"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new programme of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk‐free way ‐"

"The world isn't risk-free," said Tempest incredulously. "What use is theory without practice-"

" _Hand_ , Miss Potter?" sang Umbridge.

Tempest refused to raise her hand, and others around the room raised theirs.

"And your name is?" Umbridge said to Dean.

"Dean Thomas."

"Well, Mr. Thomas?"

"Well, it's like Tempest said, isn't it?" said Dean, shooting Tempest a wary glance. "What's the point of learning the theory and spells and stuff if we're not going to use them?"

Umbridge smiled in a very irritating fashion at Dean, "And why on earth would you need to use defensive spells?"

"Well-"

Umbridge talked over him. "I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school," she said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, "but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed‐not to mention," she gave a nasty little laugh, "extremely dangerous half‐breeds."

Tempest's blood heated very quickly. She stood up so quickly her chair was knocked over. "If you're talking about Professor Lupin, he was the best teacher we ever had, and a right sight better than-"

"Five points from Gryffindor!" Umbridge said loudly, "Now _take your seat_."

"No," said Tempest, and the whole room fell deathly silent. The feeling of restlessness that had pervaded her the entire day seemed to coalesce into the figure of Umbridge before her, and Tempest snapped. "You're willfully _preventing_ us from protecting ourselves."

Umbridge's toad-like eyes stared at Tempest unpleasantly. "It is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. What on earth would you need protecting from?"

"Are you _kidding me?_ " said Tempest, "I can sort-of understand why your Ministry's so hell-bent on denying that Voldemort's returned- I'd be fucking _glad_ if he wasn't, but what about the rest of it? What about protecting against a mugger? A rapist?"

Tempest could not recall the entire class ever being so silent. She could almost hear the voice of Professor Binns upstairs through five feet of thick stone. People's eyes were flickering from her to Umbridge and back again.

Umbridge was breathing very heavily, and her voice when she spoke, was trembling slightly. "Ten points from Gryffindor, and detention, Miss Potter. Tomorrow evening, five o'clock, my office."

"Why?" asked Tempest recklessly, ignoring Hermione's frantic tugging at her sleeve, trying to get her to sit.

"Am I making too much sense?" demanded Tempest, "don't want to see the logic of my argument? We need to learn how to defend ourselves from what's out there!"

"There is nothing waiting out there, Miss Potter-"

" _Bullshit,_ " said Tempest. Her heart was pounding fast and loud in her ears. "Voldemort's _back,_ he killed Cedric Diggory-"

"You have been told," Umbridge said loudly, "that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. _This is a lie._ Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident-"

"It is not a lie," snarled Tempest, Cedric's falling body flashed before her eyes, the phantom pain of the Cruciatus curse making her fists clench at her sides. "Cedric Diggory didn't _trip over_ and die. He fought Voldemort himself, he died _fighting._ He held his own, and the _only_ reason he managed, is because he'd learnt and practiced those spells."

She stood there, trembling with the force of emotion that was coursing through her chest. She understood- she truly did, that without proof, her claims that Voldemort had returned seemed like fearmongering. But it was an insult, to her, to Cedric, to all of Voldemort's victims, to turn a blind eye.

The room seemed to be holding its breath. She had not spoken about the night of the third task, and now that she was speaking, it was just a show for her classmates. Tempest knew, because how could it be anything else? They hadn't experienced the horror of the graveyard, they hadn't been fighting for their lives… if it had been any one of them there with her, they wouldn't have lasted past the first spell. She was standing in a room filled with timed corpses, and Umbridge was driving them closer to that fate.

Umbridge's bulbous eyes were very, very cold, her face blank. Tempest thought for a moment that she was about to scream at her. Then she said, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, "Clearly mental trauma from the stress of the Triwizard Tournament. Come here, Miss Potter, dear."

Tempest kicked her fallen chair aside and strode up to Umbridge's desk. There would be consequences, Tempest knew, but again, Cedric's face, illuminated in the flash of green light, filled her vision, and she could not bring herself to care what would happen next.

Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink and started scribbling, hunched over so that Tempest could not see what she was writing. Nobody spoke.

After a minute or so, Umbridge rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly.

"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear," said Umbridge, holding out the note to her.

Tempest wanted nothing more than to turn on her heel and leave Umbridge there with her short stubby arm still extended, but she forced herself to take the note with two fingers, then whirled around and left the room.

She walked very quickly along the corridor, rounded the corner and almost ran into Peeves.

Peeves, who had been juggling inkwells, let them drop, ink spattering the walls as they smashed. "Oooh, it's Potty Wee Potter!" Cackled Peeves, his wide mouth curving up into a mischievous grin.

Tempest gritted her teeth, unable to force a smile. "Hi Peeves," she said tightly. Inspiration struck her, as suddenly as the last inkwell that Peeves threw at her. She paid no attention to her ink splattered robes, and said instead: "If you were looking to disrupt some people's lives, I wouldn't object to you doing your worst to the DADA class I just came out of."

"The toadsie do something to dear Potty, did she?" Peeves asked, flipping over in the air and straightening his orange waistcoat. "Annoy dear scar-face and tease her about hearing voices and seeing visions?"

"Close enough," said Tempest from behind her teeth.

"Never be it said that Peevsie turned down an opportunity to wreak havoc!" said Peeves, sweeping her an elaborate bow. "The toadsie pissed off Potty and now Peevsie will have some fun…"

Peeves shot off down the corridor, and Tempest allowed herself to take several deep breaths, trying to calm down. She continued down the corridor, then down a flight of stairs until she reached a door to her left. She forcibly unclenched her hands, which had been balled into fists, and she knocked twice.

The door opened, and Minnie emerged. She looked at Tempest in surprise. "Why on earth are you here, Miss Potter? Why aren't you in class?"

"Sent to see you," said Tempest, "Had a disagreement with Umbridge."

Minnie glanced up and down the corridor, then she waved Tempest inside. She closed the door behind them and gave a long suffering sigh. "Tempest, it's your _second_ day back."

"I know," said Tempest, offering her the note from Umbridge. "I'm sorry- sort of."

"Sort of sorry?" said Minnie skeptically.

Tempest felt the roiling mass of emotions that had been seething beneath her skin ease slightly. She managed a smile and took the seat Minnie waved her toward. As she sat, Minnie slit open the note with her wand, stretched it open, and read it, her eyes narrowing with every line.

"Is this true?" said Minnie, when she was done. Her expression was very serious.

"What did she write?" asked Tempest.

"That you shouted and cursed at her, and in your outburst, accused the Ministry of both endangering student lives, and claimed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned?"

Had she shouted? Tempest found she couldn't remember. "It all sounds about right."

Minnie looked down at the pink note with distaste, then seemingly on an impulse, she threw the note into the fireplace, where it flared up, then burnt to ashes. "Tell me what happened."

"She isn't teaching us defense," said Tempest, "she's the _Defence Against the Dark Arts_ teacher, and she's not teaching us how to defend ourselves. Then she claimed there was nothing out there in the world that could _possibly_ harm us. And she insulted Remus. It got to me."

"And so you lost your temper, of course." Minnie frowned over at Tempest, then said, "have a biscuit."

Tempest reached over for the tin, taking a ginger newt and biting its head off.

"Tempest, you need to be more careful," Minnie said quietly as Tempest chewed. "Crossing Dolores Umbridge could cost you much more than the disciplinary methods that the school allows."

"Minnie, I'm sure she could bring the entire weight of the Ministry against me, but what does that _matter?_ Voldemort's out there and Umbridge is-"

"And there's nothing you can do," said Minnie urgently, "I need you to understand this Tempest. This sort of injustice isn't one you can charge headlong into. Albus and I are doing what we can. I know it's difficult, and it's not what you want to hear, but what you need to do, is keep your head down."

The bell rang for the end of the lesson. Overhead and all around came the elephantine sounds of hundreds of students on the move. Tempest simmered with frustration. Minnie waited until the noises had died down slightly before turning back to Tempest. "Just… tread carefully," she said. "Now, if I remember correctly, it said in the note that Professor Umbridge has given you detention every evening this week, starting tomorrow."

"Injustice indeed," said Tempest darkly. She did understand, she _did,_ not that it made it any easier to accept. "Is there anything _you_ can do?"

Minnie's expression told Tempest everything she needed to know. She offered Tempest the tin of cookies again. "Have another biscuit."

Tempest took one, repeating her motion and biting off the head. "What happened to the snickerdoodles?"

"Albus discovered I had muggle cookies and ate the lot," replied Minnie, replacing the lid. Then she shook her head and frowned at Tempest. "For goodness sakes, at least try to reign your tongue and temper in, won't you, Tempest?"

"I'll try," said Tempest grudgingly.

At dinner, Tempest took two steps into the Great Hall, and every head turned toward her. Word of her outburst, and the subsequent tornado of havoc that Peeves had wreaked on her DADA class had quickly spread, and people were talking loudly about it. Gone were the hushed whispers and sideway glances, it was as though the other students were attempting to get a rise out of her. To watch her put on another show.

Tempest turned and walked out.

She went down to the kitchens, where an enthusiastic Dobby greeted her, stars in his eyes that Tempest had come to see him so soon when term had just begun. They talked about their respective holidays, with Tempest inquiring after Winky as well, who was slowly recovering from the (relatively) recent deaths of her two masters. Tempest left not long after, with some bundled up sides of food that hadn't been sent up to the Great Hall yet.

Food in hand, she left the kitchens. She headed straight for the Owlrey. She would have preferred to go with her cloak, but she was reluctant to head back to her dormitory with the chance of running into other students. At that time of the day, the Owlrey was, as Tempest had predicted, empty, and she stuffed her package of food inside the front of her robes as she climbed up onto the battlements.

She made her way along the wall and jumped up onto the roof, where, not far above her, jutted out a narrow ledge. She clambered up to it, and perched there, sucking in deep lungfuls of evening air. It was her favourite nook at Hogwarts, and up there, she could see the castle grounds sprawled out below her. She stayed there munching on the food and looking out over the school.

It wasn't a great feeling, being driven into solitude. Tempest would have liked to have dinner with her friends, perhaps gotten a laugh before the day was over, sealing the fact that Hogwarts was lesser than it used to be.

The following day dawned just as leaden and rainy as the previous one.

"But on the plus side, no Snape today," said Ron bracingly. Tempest merely yawned, and poured herself a cup of tea. She did not look over at the Slytherin table.

Double Charms after breakfast was succeeded by Double Transfiguration. Professor Flitwick and Minnie both spent the first fifteen minutes of their lessons lecturing the class on the importance of OWLs.

"What you must remember," said Professor Flitwick squeakily, perched as ever on a pile of books so that he could see over the top of his desk, "is that these examinations may influence your futures for many years to come! If you have not already given serious thought to your careers, now is the time to do so. And in the meantime, I'm afraid, we shall be working harder than ever to ensure that you'll do yourselves justice!"

They then spent over an hour revising Summoning Charms, which according to Flitwick were bound to come up in their OWL, and he rounded off the lesson by setting them their largest ever amount of Charms homework. It was the same in Transfiguration.

"You cannot pass an OWL," said Minnie grimly, "without serious application, practice and study. I see no reason why everybody in this class should not achieve an OWL in Transfiguration as long as they put in the work." Neville made a sad little disbelieving noise. "Yes, you too, Longbottom," said Minnie. "There is nothing wrong with your work except lack of confidence.

"So today we are starting Vanishing spells." Minnie continued. "These are easier than conjuring spells, which you would not usually attempt until NEWT level, but they are still among the most difficult magic you will be tested on in your OWL."

Tempest thankfully, was well versed with vanishing spells, and she successfully vanished her snail even before Hermione, with the pair of them earning Gryffindor twenty points. It made up for the fifteen that she had lost yesterday, and they were the only ones in the class not given homework, which Ron took very badly, giving them a filthy look at the end of class. He hadn't managed to get his snail to disappear, but he did say that its shell had gotten paler.

Tempest spent break finishing off her essay on Moonstones, and had just started on Charms when the bell rang and they headed down to Hagrid's (empty) hut for Care of Magical Creatures.

At this point, the mugginess had dissipated somewhat, and the day had become rather cool and breezy. Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting for the class some ten yards from Hagrid's front door, a long trestle table in front of her laden with twigs. Tempest glanced over her shoulder as she heard the sound of voices drifted over to them, carried by the wind, and saw Malfoy walking with Zambini behind them.

"Everyone here?" barked Grubbly-Plank, once all the Slytherins and Gryffindors had arrived. "Let's start in then. Who can tell me what these things are called?"

She indicated the heap of twigs in front of her. Hermione's hand shot into the air. The girl next to Parkinson whispered something to her, and Parkinson let out a squeal of girlish laughter that turned into a scream as the twigs on the table leapt up into the air and revealed themselves to be what looked like tiny pixie-ish creatures made of wood, each with knobbly brown arms and legs, two twig like fingers at the end of each hand and a funny flat, bark like face in which a pair of beetle-brown eyes glittered.

"Kindly keep your voices down, girls!" said Grubbly-Plank sharply, scattering a handful of what looked like brown rice among the stick-creatures, who immediately fell upon the food. "So, anyone know the names of these creatures? Miss Granger?"

"Bowtruckles," said Hermione. "They're tree-guardians, usually live in wand-trees."

"Five points for Gryffindor," said Grubbly-Plank. "Yes, this is a bowtruckle, and as Miss Granger rightly says, they generally live in trees whose wood is of wand quality. Anybody know what they eat?"

"Woodlice," said Hermione promptly which explained the grains of brown rice were moving. "But fairy eggs if they can get them."

"Good girl, take another five points. So, whenever you need leaves or wood from a tree in which a bowtruckle lodges, it is wise to have a gift of woodlice ready to distract or placate it. They may not look dangerous, but if angered they will try to gouge at human eyes with their fingers, which, as you can see, are very sharp and not at all desirable near the eyeballs. So if you'd like to gather closer, take a few woodlice and a bowtruckle. I have enough here for one between three. You can study them more closely. I want a sketch from each of you with all body parts labeled by the end of the lesson."

The lesson was fun, and Tempest thoroughly enjoyed when Parkinson accidentally gripped the bowtruckle too hard, and it attacked her.

"That was a great lesson," enthused Hermione, practically bouncing on their way to the greenhouses afterward. Tempest agreed unenthusiastically, very aware that as much as she wished Hagrid were back, Grubbly-Plank held a very good class.

When they reached the greenhouses, the door opened and some fourth years spilled out of it, including Ginny.

"Hi," she said brightly as she passed them. A Ravenclaw Tempest recognized followed soon after, her dirty-blonde hair tied in a knot at the top of her head. When she caught sight of Tempest, she made a beeline straight for her.

Luna took a great breath and then said, without so much as a preliminary hello: "I believe He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back, and I believe you fought him and escaped from him."

Tempest stared at the odd girl, the abruptness of the validation taking her aback.

"Thanks," she said, heartened. "And others, the less informed of us, might want to _shut up,_ " she added pointedly as Lavender and Parvati began giggling at Luna's orange radish earrings.

Luna walked off, and Tempest felt significantly better, even after Hermione scoffed at Luna, whose father was apparently the editor of _The Quibbler._ The magazine was fairly ridiculous, Tempest would admit, but then Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff stepped up to her.

"I want you to know as well, Potter," he said in a loud, carrying voice, "that it's not only weirdos who support you. I personally believe you one hundred percent. My family have always stood firm behind Dumbledore, and so do I."

"Cheers," said Tempest at the backhanded support.

Her third day back at Hogwarts seemed to have vastly improved now, and Tempest felt significantly less bitter as she went about in Herbology. Inside the greenhouse, to nobody's surprise, Professor Sprout started their lesson by lecturing them about the importance of OWLs.

Tired and smelling strongly of dragon dung, Sprout's preferred type of fertilizer, the Gryffindors trooped back up to the castle an hour and a half later. Tempest couldn't be bothered to walk all the way to Gryffindor tower to change, so she went straight to dinner, cutting a wide berth around her at the stench. She had Umbridge's detention right after, and she saw no reason to freshen up beforehand.

However, the one person whom Tempest had not managed to put off was Angelina, who strode down the table toward Tempest angrily. "What the hell did you do?" she said loudly, making many heads turn toward them.

Tempest lowered her knife from her lamb chops. "What did I do when?" she asked blankly.

"Don't give me that look," yelled Angelina, "You know perfectly well what you did- landed yourself a detention for every day of this week, and that includes Friday practice- didn't I _tell_ you to be there specifically so we could see how well the new person would fit in?"

"Ah," said Tempest, shifting on her spot and looking at her plate of tantalizing lamb chops that she felt would be inappropriate to eat at the moment. "Sorry about that."

"It's not _funny_!" shouted Angelina, not that Tempest had laughed, "Isn't it enough that I've got a new player to fill in, and now I learn you can't even be there!"

"I'm not off picking daises," snapped Tempest, "Umbridge put me in _detention-_ d'you think I wanted this?"

"You could've kept your trap shut for the team!" said Angelina fiercely, "I don't care how you're going to do it- go to Umbridge, ask her to let you off Friday, just _make sure you're there!_ "

She stormed away.

Tempest sat there, facing her food, and found her appetite had left her. Again, people were staring. She threw down her knife and grabbed her bag, walking very quickly from the hall. At this rate, she would have to get all of her meals direct from the kitchen.

She walked in circles around the castle until it was almost five, then made for Umbridge's office on the third floor. She rapped on the door.

"Come in," said Umbridge.

Tempest pushed open the door and stopped dead. The room was _foul._ The only thing that came close to the pink horrendousness of Umbridge's room was when Gilderoy Lockhart had occupied the room. Then again, Tempest almost preferred the dozens of self-portraits he had plastered over the room. Swarmy git he was, he hadn't been half-bad to look at.

Under Umbridge, all surfaces had been draped in lacy covers and pastel colours. There were vases of dried flowers residing on doilies, ornamental plates covering the walls, each decorated with a large technicolour kitten.

"Good evening, Miss Potter." Umbridge was seated behind her desk, her poor choice of flowery robes blending in with the tablecloth on the desk behind her.

"Sure," said Tempest.

"Well, sit down," Umbridge said, pointing toward a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair. A piece of blank parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for her. Tempest dropped her schoolbag beside the chair and sat down.

"There," said Umbridge sweetly, "Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me, Miss Potter. No, not with your quill," she added, as Tempest bent down to open her bag. "You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are." She handed her a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point. "Now, I want you to write 'I must not tell lies'."

"How many times?"

"Oh, just as many times as it takes for the message to _sink_ in."

Tempest gritted her teeth, and was about to begin writing, when she realized- "You haven't given me any ink."

Umbridge who had moved back over to her desk, and was preparing to mark what looked like a stack of essays, looked up. "Oh, you won't need ink," Umbridge said, with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice.

Tempest placed the dry nib of the quill to the parchment and wrote: _I must not tell lies._

Her right hand clenched around the quill. Instead of scratching fruitlessly at the parchment, the words had appeared in crimson ink. At the same time, the words etched into the back of her hand, as though carved there by a scalpel. Within moments, the skin had healed over, leaving it slightly red, but quite smooth.

The pain had been brief but intense, and Tempest stared down at the parchment very hard as she wrote _I must not tell lies_ again.

Again her skin split open, and she knew that she was writing with a blood quill. They were meant for signing official documents. Tempest had found one in Sirius's father's office at Grimmauld Place and made the mistake of using it, before Sirius had snatched it from her hands and snapped it.

From the corner of her eye, she could see that Umbridge had stilled. She was watching her, waiting for Tempest's reaction. Waiting to get a rise out of her, an expression of pain.

Tempest wrote _I must not tell lies._ She wrote it again, then again. She had suffered through the Cruciatus curse, she had torn the very flesh of her hand from the bone, this quill was _nothing._ She continued writing. Darkness fell outside Umbridge's window, but Tempest did not pause nor look up. She continued writing until she had finished filled in both sides of the long parchment, until her blood covered almost every blank space and then, finally, she looked up.

"Might I have some more parchment?"

Umbridge looked up from the essays. She clearly had not intended to be here for so long- her eyes had grown even more pouchy at the late hour. "Come here," she said.

Tempest stood up. A quick glance through the window at the moon told her that it was well past midnight. She walked over to Umbridge, standing almost a head and a half taller than her. "Hand," Umbridge said.

Tempest thrust her hand forward. It was still stinging, but Tempest felt a swell of nausea greater than that when Umbridge touched her with her thick, stubby fingers. She wrenched it away as soon as she was able.

"Tut, tut, I don't seem to have made much of an impression yet," said Umbridge, a smile stretching grotesquely across her face. "Well, we'll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won't we? You may go."

Tempest left. Her hand was fine, she told herself, clenching and unclenching it. She had had far worse. There was the time that the cursed Bludger had shattered her forearm, there was the time that Vernon, in a fit of anger, had driven a knife straight through her hand… It was nothing, Tempest told herself, nothing.

She didn't go up to her dormitory, instead settling down by the still-burning fire in the common room. She leant against the edge of the couch with a sigh. While in Umbridge's office, she had felt the need to remain utterly alert, now she felt so tired that the steps up to her dormitory seemed insurmountable.

The fire was crackling so familiar, and the heat on her skin was so blessed and comforting, that Tempest felt her eyes slipping closed.

The sound of something falling to the ground jerked Tempest awake.

Her head snapped up, and she groaned as her neck muscles twinged. "What?"

Ron swam into her vision, still dressed in his robes and holding his broom in hand. He stood peering over the side of the couch. "Blimey, Tempest! I thought you were passed out or something. What're you doing down there?"

"I fell _asleep,_ " said Tempest, getting to her feet and rubbing her eyes. She now had a stiff neck due to the damned position she'd fallen asleep in. "Just got back from detention… what are _you_ doing still up?" She looked at his new broom. "Did you fancy a nighttime flight?"

Ron looked suddenly very awkward. He shifted from side to side, his grip on his broom tightening. "Do you… do you promise not to tell Hermione? She might laugh at me… well, come to think of it, you might too-"

Tempest laughed. "There, out of the way," she said tiredly, "I won't tell Hermione. Now what was it?"

Ron took a deep breath. "Oh all right… well, I'm… I thought now that I've got a decent broom, I'm training so I can try out for Keeper."

It took a moment for the meaning to register with Tempest, but when it did, she felt a smile break across her face. "That's brilliant! It's going to be so much fun- imagine if we were on the team together!"

Ron's expression cleared. "Yeah, yeah it would," he said, sounding relieved, "you don't think it's a bit of a long shot?"

Tempest shook her head, "of course not- I've seen you fly before, and with a bit of training up with the rest of the team, you'd be a great addition. I'm only sorry I won't get to be there for you at tryouts."

"Umbridge didn't let you off detention?" Ron said sympathetically.

"Nah," said Tempest, omitting the fact that she had failed to ask. There had been no chance of Umbridge agreeing, and she had not been about to hand Umbridge the knowledge that the detentions were detracting from her life. "I'll tell Angelina when I see her... that'll be a fun conversation."

"I'm sorry," said Ron, "you won't tell anyone yet though, will you?"

"You have my word," said Tempest, then yawned loudly. "Right, we should get to bed. I'm guessing you haven't done Divination yet, have you?"

"Nope."

"Neither- more for the morning then. Night."

The next few days were some of the worst Tempest had ever had at Hogwarts. The skin on the back of her hand had healed completely the next day, but she had fallen behind on homework, and found it much harder to concentrate in class with exhaustion tugging at her. Her next detention was just as bad as the last, and Tempest, who watched the cuts heal over, knew that it was happening far more slowly.

She returned to bed even later than the night before, and fell asleep on top of her bed covers, still fully clothed.

Thursday dawned blearily before Tempest's eyes, and she dragged herself class after a liquid breakfast where she hatefully broke tradition and poured herself three cups of coffee. Transfiguration homework she completely fairly quickly in History of Magic, and spent the remaining time writing something for the proper handling of bowtruckles.

That weight lifted off her, Tempest went to Umbridge's office at five o'clock and spent the next few hours slicing _I must not tell lies_ into her hand until eventually it stopped healing, and remained there, oozing droplets of blood. Tempest gritted her teeth, mopped up the blood with the edge of her robes and kept writing.

Finally, Friday came around, and though overnight, her skin had pulled together, it split open immediately with the first stroke of ' _I_ ' and red bled down her hand, curving toward her wrist. It was the day of Quidditch tryouts, and Tempest tried to keep an eye out of Umbridge's window, where she could see tiny figures flying about at the distant Quidditch pitch.

The blood now ran down Tempest's hand, it coated her fingers as well, smearing grotesquely across the page, obscuring the words, but Tempest kept writing relentlessly. Some of her blood had dried, some of it remained gleaming and fresh.

"Let's see if you've gotten the message yet, shall we?" said Umbridge's soft voice when Tempest had lost all track of time.

She moved toward Tempest, holding out her short be-ringed fingers for her arm, gingerly avoiding the smears of dried blood. And then, just before she was able to touch her, pain seared, not across the back of her hand, but across the scar on her face.

The bottom dropped out of Tempest's stomach and she stood very suddenly, pulling her arm back.

Umbridge looked at Tempest, a smile stretching her wide, slack mouth.

"Yes, it hurts, doesn't it?" she said softly.

Tempest refused to answer. It couldn't possibly be… there was no connection at all… Umbridge's foulness was of a breed of its own…

"Well, I think I've made my point, Miss Potter. You may go."

Tempest caught up her schoolbag and left the room as quickly as she could. For the second time that week, she ran up the steps of the Owlrey, not stopping until she had reached the battlements and was clambering up onto the roof. The pounding beat in her chest and ears might've sounded like _escape,_ but to Tempest, she just wanted a break- a moment where she knew she was free of that room... of that woman...

She had barely sat down, bag at her side before she had drawn her wand and was cleaning her hand hastily, an _aguamenti_ and _scourgify_ quickly washing away the blood.

 _I must not tell lies_ remained etched in her skin.

With a sudden rush of hatred, Tempest wanted the words _gone_. She grasped her wand firmly with her left hand and whispered, " _Arci incendio."_

A thin blue flame hissed into existence, emitting from the end of her wand.

Tempest steeled herself and lowered the wand to touch the back of her right hand.

She strangled a cry at the pain, and her eyes watered as her skin crisped and seared beneath her wand. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air, and Tempest gagged, maintaining contact until she had dragged her wand the whole breadth of the words. She severed the magic, unable to bear it any longer.

When the burning pain had receded into an intense ache, Tempest forced herself to look down at her work. The fresh wounds had been cauterized, then erased; seared out by a line of red and blackened flesh. Against the pain, Tempest suddenly felt much better.

For a moment, the only noise was that of her breathing, harsh and loud in her ears, until she became aware of a strange sound growing louder. It seemed to come from beneath the rim of the roof. Tempest gripped her wand again with her left hand and looked forwards to the sound.

The sound, which Tempest thought was rather like robes flapping in the wind, stopped, and she was just about to dismiss it when above the lip of the roof, Malfoy's silver head rose into sight. He was perched on his Firebolt; reminiscent of the last time they had met like this.

This time, Tempest did not point her wand at him.

Instead, she let her wand drop and she stared blankly as Malfoy began to drift closer on his broom.

It was not until he was a meter away from her that she realised his intention, and she shifted over on the ledge, moving her bag to make room. Malfoy waited until he was level with Tempest, then dropped off his broom and onto the roof.

He lowered himself to sit beside Tempest, leaning his broom beside his left knee. There was a fair amount of shuffling- Malfoy making sure his broom wouldn't fall, and Tempest stowing her wand away, and making sure he had enough space. He didn't, and she moved over even further. It was enough to have Tempest brace herself against the roof and grip the edge tightly.

Settled in, the world stilled again, and Tempest was very aware of Malfoy's silent presence at her side. She was also very aware of her own breathing, and endeavoured to breathe quieter. Finally, she spoke, "What are you doing here, Malfoy?" she said, "I've had a spectacularly shite week."

Maddeningly, Malfoy did not translate- 'spectacularly shite week' to mean anything close to 'so get to the point,' as he said, "I thought you came up here fairly often."

Tempest, annoyed at the deflection, raised an eyebrow. "I do."

"Then why are you clinging to the roof like it's about to buck you off?"

Tempest grimaced, and loosened her grip on the stone ledge. "A precaution in case _you_ push me off."

Malfoy laughed, a startling sound. But it forced a chuckle out of Tempest as well, and when the laughter had died out, he finally answered, "I was flying around the school, I heard you yell." He gave Tempest a quick searching glance, which she ignored.

"Right," said Tempest tiredly, not bothering to answer his unspoken question, or to pay any mind as to why Malfoy was on a nighttime flight about the school. "Well. I come up here to be alone. Something you have ruined for me twice over."

"I do apologize," said Malfoy, unapologetically, "I could leave."

"No," Tempest found herself saying, "no, it's fine." She leant back with a sigh and rested her head back on the roof behind her, hands folded over her stomach. There, up through a gap in the clouds, she could see a glimpse of the endless star-studded sky. After a week of fitful and unsatisfying sleep, Tempest melted into the hard and uncomfortable stone, and the feeling loosened her tongue enough for the words to slip out; "It's just gorgeous," she sighed.

Malfoy had looked over at her. "It really is," he said.

"How's your time back been then?" said Tempest, to stave off the sleepiness she could feel tugging at the edges of her mind, "oh, and how were your exam results?"

"Being back is just… fine," said Malfoy, an odd twist to his mouth as said the words, "and I was pleased with my exam results, thank you."

"I only ask because I recall you spent a significant amount of time not studying with me," said Tempest, "glad it hasn't tripped you up."

"No it hasn't."

Tempest turned her head to look more clearly at Malfoy. He was still staring at her. The strange turn in his voice was not all that had changed. In the weak moonlight, she realized his eyes were heavier than usual, as though he too wasn't getting enough sleep.

"How do you know about this place anyway?" asked Tempest, "I never did ask."

"It's a nice spot," affirmed Malfoy, inflectionless. "I've been coming here since third year."

"Same," said Tempest, much more awake now. "When specifically?"

"Would you mind just the month, or would you like the day as well _?_ "

Tempest flushed and looked back up into the sky. "All right, it was a fairly ridiculous competition."

Malfoy was _still_ looking at Tempest.

"Stop looking at me like that," said Tempest.

"Like what?"

"There's this look that your family gives me, like I've dribbled on my shirt or something," said Tempest, "funnily enough, I don't appreciate it."

"Sorry about that," said Malfoy, again not sounding remorseful at all.

He did look away though, and down, at Tempest's hands. "Did you burn yourself?"

Tempest dropped her hands out of sight immediately. "No," she said quickly, before realising how stupid it sounded. "I mean yes. Accident. Burnt myself. Potions accident."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed at Tempest. "You never have accidents in Potions. And that looked fresh." Tempest didn't reply, keeping both her hands tucked back up the sleeves of her robes.

"Fine," said Malfoy eventually, "here, take this, your robes have to be scratching at it."

He fished about in his pocket and extracted a folded piece of fabric that he dangled in front of Tempest. It was a deep green silken handkerchief, predictably embroidered with an italicized silver _M_.

Slowly, Tempest reached out to take it. "Thanks," she said cautiously, swiftly knotting it around her hand.

"You want to be more careful," said Malfoy quietly beside her. At first, Tempest thought Malfoy was talking about her hand. It was a justified sentiment, but he shook his head. "Your godfather."

The mention was so unexpected that Tempest froze for a moment before forcing herself to remain clam, even as her heart resumed pounding in her chest. "What about him?" she said. "And why do I want to be more careful?"

Malfoy seemed surprised at her defensiveness. "Self preservation?" he said, "I assume you care _somewhat_ or you wouldn't have put on such a show at the platform... Potter, this is a... warning... you can't seriously be this naive, you were _noticed._ My _father_ noticed."

"Noticed _what_?"

"Sirius Black," said Malfoy very slowly, "was your large furry friend on the platform."

Tempest was wide awake now. Any notion of sleep was chased from her mind and her blood turned to ice. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," she managed to say, the words forced out through stiff lips, "all that Skeeter business must have made you overly paranoid- that was my friend's dog. We got close. The dog and I, that is, not the friend- although, sure, I'm close with them as well, the friend that is. That is… my cue to leave, actually."

Heart pounding, Tempest got to her feet. Malfoy made an aborted movement, as though about to grab her, then thought the better of it.

"Potter- stop- look, stop being so bloody on edge, would you?"

" _On_ _edge_?" repeated Tempest incredulously. Her bag over her shoulder, she had made it halfway down the roof already as she spoke, " _on edge?_ You know- _you know_ what's out there, and you have no excuse to say otherwise- you know what's _back_ and you're telling me to be less _on edge?_ " A sudden, different sort of fear struck her and she stopped short of the roof's edge. "Or are you going to deny it as well? Your own _father_ was there, and are you honestly denying anything's changed- that things are just the same?"

"I'm not denying anything!" hissed Malfoy, cutting through Tempest's increasingly loud voice. "My father couldn't _walk_ , the night he got back! I'm not exactly pleased with this either, all right? Will you sit back down now?"

Tempest stared at Malfoy for a long moment. She did not return to sit down.

"You said your father couldn't walk."

"No," said Malfoy shortly, "he was tortured a fair amount. All of them were." When Tempest said nothing, he snorted quietly. "Look, I don't deny that I believe that mudbloods and blood traitors belong below us, but I _never_ wanted him to come back. You'll forgive us though, if we want to remain in his good graces."

"Would I?" said Tempest tightly.

"Well, it helps that I don't need it from you," added Malfoy. "Do you feel better then? Knowing that we've suffered too?"

 _no._

"Yes," said Tempest, and dropped off the roof, out of sight.


	5. Starting Something

**_Chapter Five-_**

 _Dearest Charles- That thing that I told you has been happening on and off all summer just happened again last night. I'm sure it's just more of the same but it felt different this time. We have a new DADA professor, the Minister's Undersecretary. Hogwarts suffers for it. Following in this pattern of unfortunate news; your better half has been recognized by undesirables. God I wish I had some good news. One week down? Know that I'd much rather be over there with you. – Tempest._

Ron had gotten the position of Keeper; something Tempest congratulated him for at breakfast the next day. She had missed the party the previous night, as it had been cleared up by the time she went to bed. In fact, Tempest had forgotten all about the selection until Hermione woke Tempest by shouting through her warded curtains to get up- Ron wanted to see her.

His excitement from the previous night had lasted through the morning, and he yabbered on about flight patterns, Quidditch strategies and the absolute earliest time that they could go flying together to get some practice in before official trainings started.

Tempest listened somewhat patiently chewing on her toast, and struggled to keep her eyes open. She had just emerged from a week of late-night/early morning detentions, and she figured it would take a good couple days for her to fully bounce back.

Though the future weeks stretched out before her, days filled with sleep deprivation, and the twisting knot of restrained anger that Tempest had been nursing every moment she had spent in Umbridge's office, remained ever present. It was more difficult than it should have been for Tempest to care enough to promise Ron she would help him practice a bit before Quidditch traning that afternoon.

To stave off further conversation, she hunched further over her plate. When Hermione had set aside the Daily Prophet, Tempest reached for it it.

The only thing of note that Tempest found as she flipped through, was a small piece on Sturgis Podmore- a member of the Order, who had been arrested in the Ministry, trying to get through a door. This Tempest stared very hard at, trying to puzzle it out. She had met Podmore several times, known he was assigned to the guard of the Department of Mysteries… but he must have had some secret mission of his own that he had been caught doing. Perhaps the Ministry had suspected he was linked with the Order and arrested him on a false charge?

She wished she had more information.

The Order meetings weren't something she had missed desperately- after the first meeting she had little to contribute- but she liked being informed, disliked _not knowing._ She couldn't write to Sirius or Remus about it either, and that added to the stifling sensation of _not doing anything._ (And to cap that off, nor could they continue with their correspondences from the previous school year, as there wasn't much that could be put in an intercepted letter without being pointlessly vague.) Next Tempest thought about approaching Minnie, but Minnie hadn't been pleased with Tempest joining the Order in the first place, which left Dumbledore, and Tempest wasn't about to disturb him over something so small as her _curiosity_.

After a rather quiet breakfast, Tempest was making her way back up to her dormitory for her stash of pain-relieving potion when Angelina intercepted her.

"Look," she said, crossing Tempest as she reached the stairs, 'Sorry I was a bit short with you the other day. It's stressful, this managing lark, you know. I'm starting to think I was a bit hard on Wood sometimes." She cast a quick glance back behind them to check for listeners, then went on in a quieter voice. "I know you're mates with Weasley and you're close with his family, but he's not fabulous. Both Vicky Fobisher and Geoffrey Hooper flew better, but Hooper's a real whiner, and Vicky's involved in all sorts of societies. It's not all bad- I think with a bit of training he'll be all right. He comes from a family of good Quidditch players. Take him out and help him a bit, won't you?"

Tempest's brow knitted. "Yeah, of course. We're going to run through some things before training today… don't worry so much."

Angelina grunted and walked off.

Tempest continued on to her dormitory, hunting through her trunk for the vials of potion she had stowed away at the sides. After she had downed enough potion for her hand to stop aching, she had used up all her reserves. She had left the majority of her stock back at Grimmauld Place, thinking if she needed some for herself she could just brew it. She hadn't accounted for having _no time._

Tempest sat there, cross-legged before her trunk, staring into its depths.

Amongst poorly folded clothes and bits and bobs, the majority of the books Sirius had given her remained unopened in stacks, while the cases of Wolfsbane potion ingredients she had planned to work on were untouched. There was so much she had wanted to do, but a weeks worth of detentions had stripped all the time she had had.

She couldn't afford to get any more.

It wasn't just about her hand, with the burnt skin pulled so tight across the back that even with the potion, it hurt whenever she moved her fingers. She was trying to help Remus, she was trying to become far better at magic so that if- or _when_ she found herself in danger again, she would not be defenseless.

And in a weeks' time, when the night of the full moon came, what if Tempest found herself in Umbridge's horrible pink office again?

Minnie had told Tempest to keep her head down, to be careful.

She might just have to.

A few hours before lunch, Tempest walked down to the Quidditch pitch with Ron. They collected balls from the cupboard in the changing room and set to work, Ron guarding the three tall goalposts, Tempest playing Chaser and tossing the Quaffle at the rings.

Ron wasn't bad, Tempest found, as he blocked a particularly difficult throw that Tempest sent soaring his way. The problem was, he wasn't consistent. He would fumble easy saves but arc to stop goals that Tempest would have struggled with. Admittedly, she wasn't preforming at her best- she was making most of her throws left-handed, and she was exhausted, her heart not in the match.

After a long session that Tempest stuck out for Ron's sake, they trooped back up to the school for lunch, where Hermione was incredibly disapproving.

"You're _so_ behind on homework," she said accusingly, "Tempest, I know you've got most of yours done, but be more responsible- Ron hasn't!"

" _Ron_ is the one who asked to practice more," retorted Tempest, "We've got plenty of time. If you're so eager to have us around, come with us to training after lunch."

Hermione looked exceedingly doubtful.

"If you come, Tempest'll teach you how to catch a Quaffle," coaxed Ron, knowing it was a sore spot with Hermione. Quaffles were hard, like solid metal bowling balls with only a thin layer of leather laid over top, and unless caught in the right way, it could break ribs. The last time Tempest had thrown one at Hermione, it had slammed into her stomach and she had been bruised for weeks.

"I don't know," said Hermione cautiously, "I've got lots of-"

"Come on, 'mione! It's _Saturday_!" said Ron eagerly, "Plus you'll get to see us play!"

"Practice," amended Tempest. "Hermione, if you come, I'll give you a play by play next potions lesson."

Five minutes later, Tempest headed down to the pitch with Fred, George, Ron and Hermione. George noticed Tempest readjust her grip on her broom and seized it from her. Ron seemed to take it as a challenge, and he insisted on carrying both her and Hermione's bags. He staggered alongside them beneath the weight of the books that Hermione had crammed inside.

Tempest exchanged an amused glance with Hermione.

At the pitch, faced with the rest of the team and the twins' ribbing, Ron's entire demeanour changed. He grew stony-faced as he pulled on Wood's old robes, only with his name stitched on instead. They fitted quite well, though Wood had been broader in the shoulder. However it didn't help that Ron hunched in them beneath the twins' gaze.

"Confidence," muttered Tempest as they trooped out into the bright sunlight of the pitch. The twins' jeers were lighthearted, but Ron's ears had turned red nonetheless. "Hermione's watching," she added.

Hermione was indeed watching, albeit with a rather bored look on her face.

Perhaps it was that which made Ron's chin go up slightly, and when they kicked off into the air, he had a look of steely determination on his face. Tempest tipped Angelina a wink when she flew past. "I think he'll be just fine."

Tempest spent Sunday scouring the castle for someplace to brew the Wolfsbane potion in peace. The dungeons were out of the question, so were the empty classrooms. She had only been given permission to practice in one of the Transfiguration rooms the previous term because of the Tournament, and now she found herself unable to find a place that suited her needs.

As she wandered about the castle, checking the Marauder's map every now and then for a hidden passage or a nook she hadn't come across yet, Tempest watched the labeled dots of other students and teachers mill about on the parchment.

Clusters of students were gathered together on the map. There were the twins; surrounded by a mass of unfamiliar names- doubtless first years they were testing their products on. Ron was with Hermione in the common room, Ginny on the grounds with some others in her year. Tempest saw Minnie's dot as well, sitting in her own quarters, probably enjoying an afternoon cup of tea.

Tempest walked on, unable to shake the feeling of itching in her place. On her third circuit around the castle she knew she would find nothing, but went on regardless.

When evening had fallen, Tempest made her way to the Gryffindor common room. Tempest had already finished the rest of her homework save her Astronomy essay, and she joined Ron, who had just begun his. She sat heavily beside him with a sigh, and pulled a quill and ink out of her bag.

Ron looked at her with slightly bloodshot eyes. "I should've done this in the week," he mumbled.

"Hermione not helping?" asked Tempest, glancing over at where the girl sat, knitting by Ginny, chatting merrily.

"She wouldn't even if I asked," said Ron heavily, "you haven't done Astronomy yet either, have you? Come on, let's get to it."

Tempest scrawled a title at the top of a piece of parchment and waited. When all that happened was the black ink sank into the page and feathered out on the cheaper parchment, she set the nib back and continued writing. The pair of them worked on while the sky outside the windows became steadily darker. Slowly, the crowd in the common room began to thin. At half-past eleven, Hermione wandered over to them, yawning. "Nearly done?"

"No," said Ron shortly.

"If they'll take slop, sure," said Tempest.

Hermione leant over Ron's shoulder to peer at their essays. "Jupiter's biggest moon is Ganymede, not Callisto, and it's Io that's got the volcanoes."

"Thanks," snarled Ron, scratching out the offending sentences.

"Sorry, I only-"

"Yeah, well, if you've just come over here to criticize-"

"Ron-"

"I haven't got time to listen to a sermon, all right, Hermione, I'm up to my neck in it here-"

Tempest poked him with the end of her quill and motioned to the nearest window. "She's telling you there's an owl."

A handsome screech owl was standing on the windowsill, gazing into the room at Ron.

"Isn't that Hermes?" said Hermione, sounding amazed.

"Blimey, it is!" said Ron, throwing down his quill and getting to his feet. "What's Percy writing to me for?" He crossed to the window and opened it; Hermes flew inside, landed upon Ron's essay, and held out a leg to which a letter was attached. Ron took it off and the owl departed at once, leaving inky footprints across Ron's drawing of the moon Io.

"That's definitely Percy's handwriting," said Ron, sinking back into his chair and staring at the words on the outside of the scroll: _To Ronald Weasley, Gryffindor House, Hogwarts._ He looked up at the other two. "What d'you reckon?"

"Open it!" said Hermione eagerly.

Ron unrolled the scroll and began to read. The farther down the parchment his eyes traveled, the more pronounced became his scowl. When he had finished reading, he looked disgusted. He thrust the letter at Tempest and Hermione, who leaned toward each other to read it together:

 _Dear Ron,_

 _I have only just heard (from no less a person than the Minister for Magic himself, who has it from your new teacher, Professor Umbridge) that you have become a Hogwarts prefect._

 _I was most pleasantly surprised when I heard this news and must firstly offer my congratulations. I must admit that I have always been afraid that you would take what we might call the 'Fred and George' route, rather than following in my footsteps, so you can imagine my feelings on hearing you have stopped flouting authority and have decided to shoulder some real responsibility._

 _But I want to give you more than congratulations, Ron, I want to give you some advice, which is why I am sending this at night rather than by the usual morning post. Hopefully, you will be able to read this away from prying eyes and avoid awkward questions._

 _From something the Minister let slip when telling me you are now a prefect, I gather that you are still seeing a lot of Tempestas Potter. I must tell you, Ron, that nothing could put you in danger of losing your badge more than continued fraternization with that girl. Yes, I am sure you are surprised to hear this - no doubt you will say that Potter has always been Dumbledore's favourite - but I feel bound to tell you that Dumbledore may not be in charge at Hogwarts much longer and the people who count have a very different - and probably more accurate - view of Miss Potter's behaviour. I shall say no more here, but if you look at the Daily Prophet tomorrow you will get a good idea of the way the wind is blowing - and see if you can spot yours truly!_

 _Seriously, Ron, you do not want to be tarred with the same brush as Miss Potter, it could be very damaging to your future prospects, and I am talking here about life after school, too. It may be that you are afraid to sever ties with Miss Potter –I know that she can be unbalanced and, for all I know, violent - but if you have any worries about this, or have spotted anything else in her behaviour that is troubling you, I urge you to speak to Dolores Umbridge, a truly delightful woman who I know will be only too happy to advise you._

 _This leads me to my other bit of advice. As I have hinted above, Dumbledore's regime at Hogwarts may soon be over. Your loyalty, Ron, should be not to him, but to the school and the Ministry. I am very sorry to hear that, so far, Professor Umbridge is encountering very little co-operation from staff as she strives to make those necessary changes within Hogwarts that the Ministry so ardently desires (although she should find this easier from next week - again, see the Daily Prophet tomorrow!). I shall say only this - a student who shows himself willing to help Professor Umbridge now may be very well-placed for Head Boyship in a couple of years!_

 _I am sorry that I was unable to see more of you over the summer. It pains me to criticise our parents, but I am afraid I can no longer live under their roof while they remain mixed up with the dangerous crowd around Dumbledore. (If you are writing to Mother at any point, you might tell her that a certain Sturgis Podmore, who is a great friend of Dumbledore's, has recently been sent to Azkaban for trespassing at the Ministry. Perhaps that will open their eyes to the kind of petty criminals with whom they are currently rubbing shoulders.) I count myself very lucky to have escaped the stigma of association with such people - the Minister really could not be more gracious to me - and I do hope, Ron, that you will not allow family ties to blind you to the misguided nature of our parents' beliefs and actions, either. I sincerely hope that, in time, they will realise how mistaken they were and I shall, of course, be ready to accept a full apology when that day comes._

 _Please think over what I have said most carefully, particularly the bit about Tempestas Potter, and congratulations again on becoming prefect._

 _Your brother, Percy._

Tempest lowered the letter slowly, putting it down and smoothing out the parchment with two fingers. A strange, empty feeling had filled her chest. She had known that most of the Wizarding world had written her off as delusional and insane. She knew that it was part of the reason that Percy was now estranged from his family. But there was something _more_ to seeing it in his own writing, asking Ron to drop her as a friend because of _politics._ "Well then?" she asked, "shall I be seeing significantly less of you?"

"Give it back," said Ron, snatching it from the table. "He is-" he said jerkily, tearing Percy's letter in half, "the world's" -he tore it into quarters- "biggest" -he tore it into eighths- " _git._ " He threw the pieces into the fire.

Tempest watched the edges of parchment blacken and burn, the edges flaring up slightly before crumbling into ash. Ron's own _brother_. And Ron had chosen her. The rest of the letter disintegrated. Emotion crept up on her, clogging her throat and making her blink several times.

"Come on," Ron said briskly, unawares, "we've got to get this finished some time before dawn," He pulled his essay back toward him.

Hermione looked from Tempest to Ron with an odd expression on her face. "Oh, give them here," she said abruptly.

"What?" said Ron.

"Give them to me, I'll look through them and correct them," she said.

"Are you serious? Ah, Hermione, you're a lifesaver," said Ron, "what can I-?"

"You can promise to never leave your homework this late again," said Hermione, smiling slightly. "You too Tempest, you might manage to skimp by on some things, but if you don't concentrate on your other subjects, you're going to start failing."

"I thought this was about Ron," said Tempest hurriedly, leaning back on the sofa. "Thanks though, honestly- how is _anyone_ meant to care about how many moons Jupiter has? They should be bloody happy that I know _we_ have _one_ and leave it at that."

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to the essays. Midnight crept up and passed, and the only sound was that of the fire and of Hermione's quill scratching out sentences. It was soothing, and Tempest thought it might have been almost perfect if she shifted into Buck, curled up and melted into the cushions. She recalled the months of meditation that had brought the wolf into reality, and realized she missed the exercise. Now, more than ever, she needed to remain level-headed.

"Okay, well the outline of your essay was alright," said Hermione eventually, pushing Ron's annotated essay back, "but your conclusion is a bit off- here write this down-" she handed Ron another piece of parchment, this one covered with her own writing.

"Hermione, you are honestly the most wonderful person I've ever met,' said Ron weakly, 'and if I'm ever rude to you again-"

"-I'll know you're back to normal," said Hermione. "Tempest… were you trying to be funny? Europa is _not_ the size of Jupiter, nor is it a planet… this is basic stuff!"

Tempest was unable to find a suitable response and flapped an arm in Hermione's direction. She covered her face with a hand and tried to focus on the calming crackling of the fire.

"Are you all right?" asked Hermione concernedly.

Tempest grunted non-committedly. She was out of practice it seemed. The happy, peaceful medium had left her, and she chased it. The sound of the fire grew in her ears. She could almost see the splitting of dry wood, the glow of the embers. It was both an uneven and consistent sound, changing yet steady, until- Tempest's eyes snapped open.

There- there, she had seen for the briefest of moments- Tempest slipped off the couch. She walked very slowly over the fire and sank down to her knees.

"Er- Tempest?" said Ron uncertainly, "why are you down there?"

Tempest looked around the common room briefly to ensure they were alone, then turned back to gaze into the fireplace. "Sirius, you have just made my week."

Sirius grinned up at her, his dark head dancing and flickering in the flames of the fire. "That bad, is it?"

"Considering moving our rendezvous up," smiled Tempest, leaning into the fireplace as much as she could. "How did you know we'd be alone? Or that we'd even be here?"

"Been popping in every half-hour to check," said Sirius, his head shifting around in the flames as though trying to get comfortable, "I was starting to think you'd go to bed before everyone else had disappeared."

"Are you kneeling on the floor in the living room?" demanded Tempest, watching his face crease in discomfort, "for goodness sakes, get a cushion or something- I'm glad- but this was risky. For future reference, I'm almost always the last to go to bed."

"Noted," said Sirius, and he vanished momentarily; reappearing after less than a second had passed. "Just fetched a cushion," he grinned, "happy?"

"Yes," said Tempest. It was as though the bleakness had been swept away all at once, and she beamed, far easier and wider than she had in days. "Lately things have been… I'm so glad to see you."

"And I you," replied Sirius. "I got your letter- I'm sorry I haven't written back, there's isn't much we can really put in letters- Remus says hi."

"You didn't say you'd written to them!" said Hermione accusingly.

Tempest had forgotten she wasn't alone. She turned slowly. "Oh I'm sorry," she said, "do I have to ask your permission now?"

"Honestly, we would prefer a bit of privacy," hinted Sirius, looking past Tempest at Ron and Hermione.

Hermione blinked twice. "Oh," she said, she looked at Tempest like she wanted something then averted her eyes. "Yes, of course. Come on Ron." She got up and tugged Ron with her, collecting his essay as she went. "Goodnight, then," she said, "night Sirius."

When they had gone, Sirius beamed up at her again. "So your letter- we need a better way of communicating. We have confirmation the Ministry is looking to intercept anything you write, so the one you sent was very good- I don't think anyone else could have gotten much information from it."

Tempest gritted her teeth. What small amount of communication she could have with Sirius was being choked off. This meeting now couldn't be allowed to happen often, because she knew floo networks weren't secure, knew that anyone could walk into the common room at any moment, and that as much as she wanted to ask Sirius about his week and escape from the stifling place which Hogwarts had become, they didn't have much time.

"You said your scar hurt again," said Sirius seriously, "and it felt different- different how?"

Tempest gave him a brief outline of Umbridge and the detention, carefully omitting the blood quill. "It was just unexpected, you know?" she said, "I know Voldemort's back, so that's _why_ it keeps hurting, and I know it sounds ridiculous, but with the stance the Ministry has taken… do you think there's anything sinister about her?"

"Umbridge," repeated Sirius, drawing out the name slowly. "I couldn't say for sure. I know her by reputation, and while I'm positive she's no death eater, she could cause problems for you."

"She _is_ causing problems for me," said Tempest darkly. "I spent the entire week in detention for losing my temper in DADA. I've got to keep a check on myself in case I get detention for the full moon… Is there anything else I should know about her?"

Sirius's face moved in the fire, and Tempest thought he might've shrugged. "This probably won't help with your dislike of her, but she drafted a bit of anti-werewolf legislation a few years back. Remus suffered for it." Tempest thought of how strained Remus looked when she saw him, and her burnt hand clenched. "She loathes part-humans, she campaigned to have merpeople rounded up and tagged last year too. Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting merpeople when there are little toerags like Kreacher on the loose-"

Tempest snorted, "you do like his scrambled eggs, just admit it." But his point stood. "Merlin, she's a foul, isn't she? On top of everything else, her lessons are dreadful," she said, "I might be done acting up, but it's doing my head in, she's not letting us practice magic at all, she's willfully putting everyone in danger."

"Ah, well, that figures," said Sirius, sounding unsurprised. "Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat."

"Trained in combat?" repeated Tempest incredulously. "We _should_ be trained in combat-but… does he think we're going to band together to fight him?"

"That's exactly what he thinks you're doing," said Sirius, "or rather, that's exactly what he's afraid Dumbledore's doing- forming his own private army, with which he will be able to take on the Ministry of Magic. Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power. He's getting more paranoid about Dumbledore by the day. It's a matter of time before he has Dumbledore arrested on some trumped-up charge."

" _Fuck_ ," breathed Tempest. "Still, the way things are going, a change of power in the Ministry wouldn't be a bad thing."

"No it wouldn't."

There was a pause where she imagined a world where the Ministry was gearing up to fight Voldemort like the Order was doing. Where the Minister of Magic wasn't wasting time focusing on preventing teenagers from protecting themselves.

Sirius cleared his throat. "So when's your next Hogsmeade weekend? I was thinking, we'll see you at the full moon, but if Hogwarts is getting you down, and with me stuck in this house, it'd be nice to meet again when we can."

Tempest was so tempted ' _yes_ ' had slipped out before she could rein it in. She remembered, a bit belatedly: _Be more careful._ "Come as Charles," she added, "Lucius Malfoy recognized you on the platform, we can't risk that again."

"Lord Charles it is," agreed Sirius, his whole face brightening. "Dumbledore won't be pleased but the old coot doesn't dictate everything."

Tempest gave Sirius one last smile, knowing it was time to say goodbye. Every second that passed, the danger of discovery grew. "I'll send you the date when I know. Thanks for 'dropping by.' I-"

"Wish you were here," finished Sirius, and his face pulled back through the fire and vanished with a pop.

Hogwarts life continued to truck along. Tempest entered into her second week of Hogwarts feeling far fresher and better prepared for it all. The announcement of the educational reform that Percy had hinted at had taken place, and when Tempest had read the article in the newspaper, her fists clenched in the paper. But she was being careful. So she did not look up at the staff table, did not crumple the article into a ball. She continued to eat.

"Will we see her in History of Magic, do you think?" said Hermione, re-reading the article.

Tempest chuckled once, and finished her cup of tea. "Binns barely stops his lectures for questions, just talks till the bell- let's see how Umbridge does with him."

But Umbridge was not inspecting their History of Magic lesson, which was just as dull as the previous Monday, nor was she in Snape's dungeon when they arrived for double Potions.

They got their moonstone essays back though, and Tempest glanced down at the tightly written 'O' printed in the upper corner of the page. As ever, the simple letter on the parchment seemed to convey all of the reluctance of its writer.

"What did you get?" Ron muttered, nudging Tempest's arm.

Tempest didn't bother to reply, shoving her paper towards Ron.

Ron sighed heavily. "I got a 'P'."

"Don't let Hermione see," warned Tempest.

They were brewing a Strengthening Solution that lesson, and Tempest, as promised, talked Hermione through making her own. Brewing was always a rather peaceful exercise, Tempest felt- even with the most finicky potions, when one had to rush across the room for extra ingredients or siphon out incorrect combinations in risk of exploding. Which was what made the Wolfsbane potion so frustrating. Potions was the one thing that Tempest had been able to set her mind to and accomplish, without fail, until now.

She looked up to the front of the room, where Snape was inspecting the elder Greengrass sister's potion. Loathe as she was to ask for help… if there was something she could do that would make Snape show her how to get the potion _right_ …

"That was a great lesson," enthused Hermione afterward, as they climbed the steps out of the dungeon and made their way across the entrance hall toward lunch. "Thanks Tempest, really eye-opening. And the homework went quite well too- I mean, I didn't expect the top grade, though I would have loved to have gotten an 'O,' but he said he's marking to OWL standard, so a pass is encouraging at this stage, wouldn't you say?"

Ron mumbled something under his breath that put Tempest off lunch. Louder, he said mulishly, "if you want to know our marks just ask, don't go flapping around the subject- I got a 'P,' and Tempest got an 'O,' no surprises there- are you happy?"

"Well-"

The twins cut in then, which was probably a good thing, as Ron's had begun to redden, while Hermione's face was entering into what Tempest had fondly dubbed 'restrained disappointment.'

George sat beside Tempest while the other three went on about OWL grades. "I don't expect you have much to worry about," he said, taking her silence as nervousness, "if I could get through all right, you'll ace them."

"Cheers," muttered Tempest, "doesn't mean I don't have other things to worry about."

"Of course," said George easily, "Whatever you're worrying about… apart from the obvious… would you like a second pair of eyes?" Tempest paused in the motion of reaching for the teapot. "Don't pretend there's nothing else," snorted George quietly, "I know you better than that. So what is it?"

Tempest finished pouring herself the cup of tea, before looking over the rim at George carefully. The amount that he mucked around with his twin and Lee Jordan made her forget sometimes that he was, presently, his own person. And he wanted to help.

"I'm trying to do something for Remus," she said slowly. "And I need someplace private, where no one can barge in or anything. I don't suppose you know a place?"

"Well, the Marauders Map-"

"I've been through everything on the map, and several places besides," sighed Tempest. "Every place that _might_ work, there's always something wrong- the conditions are off, or I can't get to it often."

George thought over this for a moment, then he grimaced. "I had hoped to have the answer just like _that._ "

Tempest gave a short laugh. "Things don't really work that way."

"No… well, I'd ask one of the elves then," said George, "they clean every inch of this castle- if there's a place, they'll know about it."

That… that wasn't a bad idea.

Tempest made a note to speak to Dobby as soon as she could, and dug into her lunch with a renewed vigor. "How's your day been?" she asked.

George shrugged. "Not bad. We had an inspected lesson though, just now before lunch- Charms."

"Dreadful?"

"It was all right," said George, "she didn't do much. Lurked in the corner, making notes on a clipboard. You know what Flitwick's like, he treated her like a guest, didn't seem to bother him at all. Asked Angelina a few questions about what the classes are normally like, Angelina told her they were really good, that was it."

Tempest snorted. "She's not going after him: he's not in the Order. Still- Umbridge is prejudiced. Wait until she hears the rumor that he's part goblin."

It seemed Tempest had gotten off lightly, missing the woman in her classes that day so far. The toad was perched in a seat close behind where Trelawney usually stood when Tempest emerged through the trapdoor and stepped into the cloying Divination room, Ron close behind her.

She was late, and she kept her eyes carefully adverted. George had said that Umbridge hadn't done much in Charms. If she could just pretend Umbridge wasn't there, she could probably get through the lesson without more of a headache than the class usually gave her.

It soon became apparent that ignoring Umbridge wouldn't work. She spoke briefly to Trelawney, who looked deeply disgruntled at Umbridge's presence. She made a visible attempt to stay as far away from Umbridge as possible as the lesson commenced, a task made far harder when Umbridge began following her around the room closely.

Ron nudged Tempest, who was hunched over her copy of _The Dream Oracle,_ "Pretend to be working, in case she comes this way."

"More than usual, you mean?" said Tempest, but she flipped open her book to a random page and stared sightlessly at the words. She turned to her dream diary instead. "Cross referencing right? Let's say I dreamed of opening a waffle shop. Would that go under 'career' or 'food?'"

"I reckon food," said Ron, turning pages in his _Dream Oracle._

Tempest grunted, focusing very hard on Ron's finger as he ran it down the page. Distantly, she could hear Umbridge speaking to Trelawney. Tempest shut it out, for the first time cursing the sharper hearing being an animagus had afforded her.

Umbridge was asking about when Trelawney was hired, and by whom- Dumbledore as it turned out, a point against her favour.

"So when did you have this dream? We've got to add your age to the date of the dream, the number of letters in the subject-"

"Let's say fairly recently- last night. What date was that?"

"Seventh," said Ron, "so that's seven… plus fifteen… plus four-"

"Twenty six," said Tempest, but then found it very hard to continue caring about the calculations, as Umbridge demanded, quite demonstrably, for Trelawney to predict something for her.

The whole class quieted.

Shifting around in her seat subtly, Tempest saw Trelawney had stiffened as though unable to believe her ears.

"I don't understand you," said Trelawney, clutching convulsively at the shawl around her scrawny neck.

"I'd like you to make a prediction for me," said Umbridge very clearly.

Trelawney as she drew herself up to her full height, her beads and bangles clinking. "The Inner Eye does not See upon command!" she said in scandalized tones.

"I see," said Umbridge softly, making a note on the clipboard she held.

"I- but- but... _wait_!" said Trelawney suddenly, in an attempt at her usual ethereal voice, though the mystical effect was ruined somewhat by the way it was shaking with anger. "I… I think I _do_ see something... something that concerns _you.._. Why, I sense something... something dark... some grave peril..." Trelawney pointed a shaking finger at Umbridge who continued to smile blandly at her, eyebrows raised. "I am afraid... I am afraid that you are in grave danger!" Trelawney finished dramatically.

There was a pause. Umbridge's eyebrows were still raised. "Right," she said softly, scribbling on her clipboard once more. "Well, if that's really the best you can do..."

She turned away, leaving Trelawney standing rooted to the spot, her chest heaving.

Tempest returned to her book. It seemed Umbridge was as aware as anyone else that Trelawney was a fraud, but when put against everything else, Tempest found herself wishing Trelawney had been a bit more convincing.

Trelawney swooped down on them a moment later, snapping her long fingers under Tempest's nose, uncharacteristically brisk. "Well? Let me see the start you've made on your dream diary, please."

Tempest sat through Trelawney's loud interpretation of her dreams to the whole class, trying not to watch Umbridge making notes on her clipboard. She listened to Trelawney turn her hastily scribbled nonsense of talking frogs, beachside walks and buttering crumpets into foretellings of gruesome and early deaths.

Umbridge descended the ladder before the rest of them when the bell rang, and she was waiting for the rest of them when they arrived in the DADA classroom ten minutes later.

Tempest again avoided looking in Umbridge's direction, following Ron to where Hermione sat at the back of the classroom. "I almost felt bad for the crazy bat," said Ron, sitting down beside Hermione. "She could barely string two words together with the toad breathing down her neck."

"She looks pleased," noted Hermione, nodding up at Umbridge.

Tempest imagined she was. Trelawney had been Dumbledore's selection for Divination professor; that was the only reason she could think of for Umbridge to go after Trelawney in such a manner. Yes the woman was a fraud, and a rather obvious one at that, but Umbridge wouldn't have cared either way. It wasn't as though she was quality teaching material either.

Umbridge began the lesson, assigning the reading for the hour, ' _Chapter Two, Common Defensive Theories and their Derivation,_ ' on page nineteen.

Turning to page nineteen, Tempest looked at the page for a moment, before withdrawing a pencil stub from her pocket and beginning to doodle in the margin. She had sketched half of what could pass as a shoddy dog when she realized that Hermione had her hand up again.

Umbridge had noticed too, and perhaps learning from the last occasion, decided to deal with Hermione quietly. She got to her feet and walked around and down the row of desks until she reached their desk. She bent down and whispered, so that the rest of the class could not hear, "What is it this time, Miss Granger?"

"I've already read Chapter Two," said Hermione.

"Well then, proceed to Chapter Three."

"I've read that too. I've read the whole book."

Umbridge blinked but recovered her poise almost instantly.

"Well, then, you should be able to tell me what Slinkhard says about counter-jinxes in Chapter Fifteen."

"He says that counter-jinxes are improperly named," said Hermione promptly. "He says 'counter-jinx' is just a name people give their jinxes when they want to make them sound more acceptable."

Umbridge raised her eyebrows, and Tempest knew she was impressed against her will.

"But I disagree," continued Hermione.

Umbridge's eyebrows rose a little higher and her gaze became distinctly colder. "You disagree?"

"Yes, I do," said Hermione, who, unlike Umbridge, was not whispering, but speaking in a clear, carrying voice that had by now attracted the rest of the class's attention. "Mr. Slinkhard doesn't like jinxes, does he? But I think they can be very useful when they're used defensively."

"Oh, you do, do you?" said Umbridge, forgetting to whisper and straightening up. "Well, I'm afraid it is Mr. Slinkhard's opinion, and not yours, that matters within this classroom, Miss Granger."

"But-" Hermione began.

"That is enough," said Umbridge. She walked back to the front of the class and stood before them, no longer smiling. "Miss Granger, I am going to take five points from Gryffindor house."

There was an outbreak of muttering at this.

Tempest gripped her pencil so hard it left smears of graphite on the inside of her palm.

"What for?" burst out Ron angrily.

"For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions," said Umbridge smoothly. "I am here to teach you using a Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little. Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more license, but as none of them- with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects- would have passed a Ministry inspection."

Tempest gritted her teeth. In her palm, the pencil snapped.

Tempest's hand was throbbing again the next day. She had applied dittany to the gashes that the splintered wood had left in her hand, but now both sides of her right hand hurt, and she found herself doing most things with her left hand. She kept Malfoy's kerchief knotted around her hand, a decision that hinged on the fact that the rich material felt far better against her skin than anything else she had tried (not that she had tried anything else) and was no comment in the favour of the owner.

She would return it at some point.

It looked to be a good day, with Charms going smoothly, her wand work unaffected by the switch in hands, and Transfiguration right after, her favorite class. Unfortunately, the moment Tempest stepped into the room, she was aware of the cloying, clammy feeling that Umbridge gave off.

Without looking, Tempest knew the woman was seated in the corner of the room.

Ron had no such qualms about looking, and he snickered as he sat, not bothering to disguise his glee. Tempest thought if he went any farther, he would be rubbing his hands together. "Excellent," he whispered, "let's see Umbridge get what she deserves."

Minnie swept into the room as she usually did, the class falling silent immediately.

She began the lesson immediately as though Umbridge were not there, "Mr Finnigan, kindly come here and hand back the homework- Miss Brown, please take this box of mice- don't be silly, girl, they won't hurt you- and hand one to each student-"

"Hem, hem," said Umbridge; employing the same silly little cough she had used to interrupt Dumbledore on the first night of term.

Minnie ignored her.

Seamus handed back Tempest's essay, and Tempest glanced down at it, pleased with her 'O.'

"Right then, everyone," said Minnie, "listen closely - Dean Thomas, if you do that to the mouse again I shall put you in detention- most of you have now successfully Vanished your snails and even those who were left with a certain amount of shell have got the gist of the spell. Today, we shall be–"

" _Hem, hem_ ," said Umbridge.

" _Yes_?" said Minnie, turning round, her eyebrows so close together they seemed to form one long, severe line.

"I was just wondering, Professor, whether you received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspec-"

"Obviously I received it, or I would have asked you what you are doing in my classroom," said Minnie, turning her back firmly on Umbridge. Tempest couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped her, a sound she quickly turned into a hacking cough as the eyes of both teachers fell on her.

"As I was saying: today, we shall be practicing the altogether more difficult vanishment of mice. Now, the Vanishing Spell –"

" _Hem, hem_."

"I wonder," said Minnie in cold fury, turning on Umbridge, "how you expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit people to talk when I am talking."

Tempest buried her face in her book to hide the unmistakable upward twitching of her mouth, and looking across, she could see Ron was red in the face, trying to hold on to his laughter. Umbridge looked as though she had just been slapped in the face. She did not speak, but straightened the parchment on her clipboard and began scribbling furiously.

Looking supremely unconcerned, Minnie addressed the class once more. "As I was saying: the Vanishing Spell becomes more difficult with the complexity of the animal to be vanished. The snail, as an invertebrate, does not present much of a challenge; the mouse, as a mammal, offers a much greater one. This is not, therefore, magic you can accomplish with your mind on your dinner. So- you know the incantation, let me see what you can do…"

Umbridge did not follow Minnie around the class as she had with Trelawney; perhaps she realized Minnie would hardly take that sitting down. She did, however, take many more notes while sitting in her corner, and when Minnie finally told them all to pack away, she rose with a grim expression on her face.

The bell rang and they began filing out of the classroom. Tempest saw Umbridge approach the teacher's desk, and just before Tempest passed by to get to the door, she tipped Minnie a wink, and swore she received a slight smile in return.

Tempest was very much looking forward to an Umbridge free rest of the day, but fortune was not smiling upon her, as she caught sight of the pink cardigan on the walk down to Hagrid's hut.

Tempest groaned. "Why is the she here? Grubbly-Plank's filling in… she shouldn't need to be inspected."

Hermione shrugged. "Well Professor Umbridge doesn't know for how long Hagrid will be gone, so she would want to evaluate Professor Grubbly-Plank anyway."

"She's going to be hanging around for a while," said Ron darkly, before perking up, "we might get a few laughs though when she decides to inspect _Snape_."

"You do not usually take this class, is that correct?" Was the first thing that Tempest heard as soon as she was within earshot. Both around the same height, they were standing near the trestle table where a group of captive Bowtruckles were scrabbling around for woodlice.

"Quite correct," said Grubbly-Plank, hands behind her back and bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I am a substitute teacher standing in for Professor Hagrid."

"Hmm," said Umbridge, dropping her voice, but still clearly audible. "I wonder- the Headmaster seems strangely reluctant to give me any information on the matter- can you tell me what is causing Professor Hagrid's very extended leave of absence?"

"'Fraid I can't," said Grubbly-Plank breezily.

"Damn right she can't," Tempest muttered under her breath, "that would be Order business."

"Yes Miss Potter?"

"Hmm?" Tempest looked up, inwardly cursing her laziness. "Oh sorry, I was just… apologizing to this twig you see, because I stepped on it, and I thought it was a Bowtruckle- but it wasn't- I do apologize for the disturbance."

She kept the insolence out of her face as much as possible, and it was only when Umbridge had given her a sickly sweet smile and turned away that Tempest allowed herself to pull a face at Ron.

Grubbly-Plank got started with the lesson, and this time, instead of sitting (or standing, there weren't exactly any chairs around, and Tempest doubted that Umbridge would consent to sit on the ground) in the corner for the class, Umbridge took a different tact and wandered amongst the students, questioning them on magical creatures. Most people (and by that, Tempest meant the Gryffindors- the Slytherins for the most part seemed even more dense than usual) were able to answer well.

Though the class put on a mostly good show for Hagird's years of teaching, Umbridge questioned a number of the Slytherins closely, asking after injuries in the class- all of which had been their own stupid fault, and which Tempest had to clench her hand tightly at, so that the pain would stay her mouth.

However, regardless of the fact that Grubbly-Plank gave a positive review of Dumbledore, Umbridge seemed satisfied with her work and walked off toward the castle, thankfully without any further remarks that made Tempest inclined to have another 'outburst.'

The day hadn't been a bad one, but there was clearly something about the way she was behaving that made George sit down beside her at dinner and look curiously at her.

"You all right?" he said.

Tempest, who hadn't a clue as to what would make him think she wasn't, merely looked at him, before cutting into her steak. "I'm fine," she said.

"If you say so," said George, with a surprising amount of misplaced insight. He leant in a shade closer, and Tempest mimicked him after a pause, thinking the proximity was to discuss the joke shop in tones that Ron and Hermione nearby couldn't hear. Instead he said: "I was thinking… seeing as you're now detention free and have a bit more time… if you'd want to- that's nice."

Tempest followed his line of sight to the kerchief wrapped around her hand, and she tugged her sleeve back over the green silk. "It is nice," she said.

"So… it isn't yours?"

Tempest laughed at that. "I _can_ have nice things, George- but no… I was given it. Not sure if I'm expected to give it back..." She gave George a strange look, "what- did you want to buy some for yourself?"

George looked taken aback, "no, not at all… I just didn't know you held in handkerchiefs."

Tempest rolled her eyes. "It's all right to not know some things, mate."

"Yeah, sure," said George, now looking rather discomfited. "But what I was saying before- er… what're you doing next week?"

"You know, the usual," said Tempest, "Quidditch practice, class, keeping my nose clean… Did you have something planned? A prank? Because any time is fine for me- oh, save Wednesday night."

"Why?" said George curiously, "do you have plans or something?"

"A rendezvous," grinned Tempest, thinking of Sirius. Merlin she couldn't wait. She knew they wouldn't have much time to talk- running around with a werewolf didn't lend itself to lengthy conversations, but just being there would be enough, she felt.

"A nighttime rendezvous?"

"Well, yes, we want to be discrete-" Tempest caught herself, and cursed her carelessness. She wasn't going to tell George about being an animagus- the fewer people that knew, the better. She finished with an ambiguous: "People talk, you know."

Strangely enough, George looked stricken. Perhaps he was recalling the previous year, and Skeeter's foul articles, or even those now, claiming she was insane. People loved a good story, a controversy. Preferred it to the truth even. But for her nighttime wanderings, Tempest was fine with whatever lie steered far away from the truth.

She changed the subject quickly and the conversation turned to the joke shop.

After dinner, they went up to the common room together, meeting with Fred as well and then spending the next several hours looking at the results of the testing that the twins had been conducting (more discretely now that Hermione had them on her radar.) It was a good time, and Tempest was still thinking about the brilliance of some of their ideas when she joined Ron and Hermione in the otherwise deserted common room late into the night.

Nyx had come down from her dormitory and Tempest sat on her customary sofa with the cat curled around her shoulders, the sound of Ron and Hermione's voices dim in the background. Her thoughts quickly darkened, turning to Voldemort, and his ever present shadow. She was looking into the flickering flames of the fireplace, knowing it was selfish and risky, but wishing Sirius's head would appear.

She didn't even notice Hermione was talking to her, until a cushion hit her in the face. Tempest tossed the cushion back at Ron, before glancing at Hermione. "What?"

"I was _saying,_ " Hermione said pointedly, "We should do something about Umbridge."

"I suggest poison," said Tempest tiredly.

"That's what Ron suggested," sighed Hermione.

"Great minds think alike."

Hermione glared Tempest for a moment before speaking again. "No. I meant something about what an awful teacher she is, and how we certainly won't be learning any Defense from her at all."

"Teach yourself then," said Tempest, eyes drifting back to the fire. "It's what I've been doing. Well- trying to do." She still hadn't been down to the kitchens to ask Dobby if he knew a place where she could practice magic and brew in peace.

"That'll happen," snorted Ron, "It's all right for you, you get along fine, but I'm _still_ behind on homework and it's only the second week."

"Well," said Hermione slowly, "that _was_ actually what I was thinking. Fudge won't let Dumbledore kick Umbridge out, so we're stuck with her indefinitely, if she can last the year. So… yes… we should just do it ourselves."

"Great," said Tempest distractedly.

Ron looked at her incredulously. "Well you two can get on and do it yourselves," he said, "I'm not coping as it is, you lot can take on more work if you like."

"But this is so much more important than school!" said Hermione fervently.

That got Tempest's attention, and with Ron, they both stared at her.

"Obviously," said Tempest. "But I didn't think that-"

Hermione turned to Tempest with an almost sad look in her eyes. "You didn't think we understood how serious it all is?" Tempest found herself struck momentarily wordless, an ability she didn't know Hermione possessed. "I heard what you said," Hermione continued, "that first day in Umbridge's class. It's about preparing ourselves, to being ready for what's waiting out there. We're… we're not _safe_ Ron. Cedric… Cedric was murdered and he was a pureblood, so what does that mean for the rest of us? If we don't learn anything for a whole year-"

"We can't do much by ourselves," said Ron in a defeated voice. "I mean all right, we can go look up jinxes in the library and try and practice, but- how do _you_ do it, Tempest?"

Nyx's tail flicked idly by Tempest's chin, and Tempest pulled the cat off her shoulders and down to curl in her lap. She thought back over to the weeks of preparation she had done for the third task. Sirius had sent her a list of spells… she had researched them… and she had gotten Malfoy to help her practice.

Tempest hadn't known when she was blowing desks apart with Malfoy that it would save her life in the graveyard. Even now, looking at the green handkerchief wrapped around her hand, she wondered if it _had_ made the difference. Because the spells had meant very little. She hadn't been able to hold her own; she had _run_ and the only reason she had escaped was…

The silver ' _M_ ' embroidered on the silk glimmered slightly in the firelight and Tempest looked back up at Ron. "It's a bit more complicated than just looking up some jinxes," she said slowly. "I mean that's important too, but the most I've learnt about defense lately is what Sirius's been teaching me."

Hermione was nodding. "That's true, we've gone past the stage where we can just pick up a book and learn things. We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us the spells and correct us if we're going wrong."

Tempest thought about it. "I'm sure Sirius would be happy to help, Remus too, as he used to be our actual DADA professor… I think he's a bit busy with Order business though, and _I_ barely get to see either of them as it is, I'm not sure how we could schedule-"

Hermione was shaking her head. "I'm not talking about them, Tempest, I'm talking about _you._ "

There was a moment's silence. Nyx squirmed in Tempest's lap, and Tempest quickly resumed stroking her between the ears the way she liked.

"Me." she said flatly.

She looked at Ron to see his response to the madness, only Ron didn't seem to think it was very outlandish.

Then he said, "That's an idea."

"A far-fetched one," said Tempest, rising to her feet and gathering giving the fire one last glance. She thought she might get up early for a quick breakfast the next morning, then go down to the kitchens to speak to Dobby. "Even if I knew enough- which I don't- I'm not cut out for teaching."

"But it makes sense!" said Hermione, also getting to her feet, "I mean, you're part of the Order, and the only one we have regular access to and has time to teach us, you've spent the whole summer with Sirius and he's taught you tons of stuff, and you've got so much experience fighting the Dark Arts!"

"Hermione, I get that I'm in economic terms, 'the best you've got,' and that it seems like a good idea from that perspective… but you're overshooting this. I don't have _experience,_ I never signed up for this- I just… blunder into things and muck my way out. It's not anything I'd ever want to pass on."

"You seem to muck your way out pretty well," said Ron, smirking over at Hermione, "I wouldn't mind learning some of that."

" _Well?_ " repeated Tempest, "when have I _ever_ managed to get myself out of a fix _well?_ "

Ron seemed to take it as a challenge. "Let's think," he said, pulling a face like Goyle concentrating. "Uh… first year - you saved the Philosopher's Stone from You-Know-Who, killed Quirrell-"

Nyx dug her claws into Tempest's arm as she squeezed the cat too tight. "I don't think _manslaughter_ is the best of qualifications."

"Second year," Ron went on, ignoring her, "you killed the Basilisk and destroyed Riddle."

"Right, _fine,_ I'll give you that one," snapped Tempest.

"Third year, you fought off a hundred dementors-"

"Okay!" said Tempest loudly, "got it, okay?" She took a breath. "It sounds impressive when you say it all like that- but it was never _like that._ I never had a plan; I never learnt how to get through it- I'm still here because… Merlin I don't know _how._ Right there in the moment it all just happens, and that _feeling,_ whatever it is that helps you survive, I can't _communicate_ that, I don't know how to _teach_ that, because I don't know if it's even something I have."

Hermione and Ron had stopped smirking and were staring at her.

"But… Tempest," said Hermione, "you said the words yourself. You're the best we've got." She shook her head when Tempest made to protest, even though _yes,_ she had said the words. All that stuff you just said… about not knowing what to do… it's still more than what we've got." She said. "Just give it some thought, will you?"

Tempest swallowed hard. She nodded once.


	6. Disappointments

**_Chapter Six-_**

There is pain.

But not for long. It was brief, and now that Tempest thinks back on it, she can barely recall the feeling of having approximately five inches of metal embedded in her chest. A dull ache?

She rubs at her chest with a strangely translucent hand, but no. Beneath the material of her t-shirt, she feels whole.

Well…

Tempest looks down, down through the shape of her immaterial legs, down at the ground, which she floats above. There, on the ground, laid out beneath the crumpled remains of what had been Sirius's beautiful bike, was a bloodied mess of what had used to be a teenage girl…

herself.

Tempest looks around.

The caved in front of the truck is steaming, and there are people running about. Some are screaming, others are huddled together muttering, and one is just kneeling at her side.

It must be the truck driver, thinks Tempest. He has his hat off and his blood-stained fingers are feeling about at her throat for a pulse. He won't find one, she knows, she's dead. She's so dead she's now floating above the whole gory scene as a ghost, mildly interested in the proceedings.

The truck driver was nice to stop, muses Tempest. A bit late, but at least he hadn't hit and run- not that the way her body and bike were laid out before the truck would have made that easy. Even now, looking down, Tempest can't recall which of them should've braked.

Losing interest, Tempest drifts sideways.

Voldemort will be annoyed, she thinks idly. For all of his posturing and lusting after her demise, all it had taken was a loose foot on the brakes to bring about her end. Sirius would be upset as well, she thought. She'd been out to get some doughnuts, the box of which was now crushed beneath the wheel of the bike.

She regrets it. Dying.

She hadn't managed to make the Wolfsbane potion, wouldn't be able to help Remus and Sirius through the future full moons… She hadn't been able to do anything yet which would make it feel like she had made up for Cedric's death…

"Hello there."

Tempest looks around to see Cedric's immaterial form appear before her.

"I see you died," he notes, an empathetic grimace crossing his handsome-in-death features.

"I saw that too," replies Tempest. Somewhere, distantly, she hears a howling begin. "You hear that?"

"I don't hear anything," says Cedric unhelpfully.

They are standing in the graveyard.

"Merlin I hate this place," says Tempest.

Cedric looks around. "It isn't where I'd liked to have spent my last moments, no."

Tempest laughs a bit at that. "Where would you have liked to die?"

"Home," says Cedric, floating inbetween headstones. They aren't far from the cracked and unrepaired remains of Tom Riddle's grave. "Old. In bed, surrounded by family. I might drift off and never wake up. That wouldn't be too bad."

"Sounds dreadful to me," says Tempest. "I'd have liked to go out in a spectacular fashion."

"Like how you were? Crushed to death by a muggle vehicle?"

"Touché." Tempest pauses and looks around at it all. Shattered pieces of stone still littered the ground, "So why are you still here?"

Cedric looks at Tempest and suddenly there's smoke in the air. He's toppling forward, ever so slowly. Blood coats the side of his face. His eyes reflect green.

"Do you think I have a choice?"

On the day of the full moon, Tempest spent the whole day jittering with anticipation, waiting for evening to fall. She had spent the day gearing up to feign an early night. It was more difficult than it might've been for someone else, for Tempest, as a general rule didn't retire until the twenty-second hour at least. To meet Sirius, she needed to be gone by six thirty.

So Tempest woke that morning and spent the next few hours keeping the pained grimace she wore when she was having a migraine, pasted across her face. By midday, she had taken to (absent)mindedly kneading at her temples, and by dinner, she had managed to drain all the colour from her face by taking rapid and shallow breaths.

At six o'clock, Tempest sat down in the common room by the fire with Ron and Hermione, and the fourth time that she failed to answer a direct reference they made to her, Hermione told her concernedly to go to bed.

At five past six, Tempest had changed into a pair of jeans and a shirt, drawn the curtains around her bed, warded them as she usually did, and thrown on her invisibility cloak. Her keychain bike and Sirius's knife were in her pocket, and she had the Marauder's map in hand.

She made her way cautiously down into the common room, avoiding anyone who drifted too close to her invisible- but damningly solid- body and waited close to the portrait hole for someone to open it. Two minutes later, a few third years trooped in, and Tempest slipped out through the gap of the closing door as quickly as she could. In the corridor beyond, she made her way swiftly through the emptying castle hallways and down to one of the side doors that led out of the castle.

It was locked and warded as it usually was at night, but Tempest slipped one of the attachments of Sirius's knife into the lock, and with a swift turn, the door opened.

She set off at a brisk pace across the castle grounds and toward the Forbidden Forest. She hadn't gone far into the trees before she stopped and got out the bike. The further in she went, the more likely she was to run into the territorial inhabitants of the forest, centaurs, spiders, trolls… The bike exploded to full size and Tempest got on, making sure her trailing cloak wouldn't catch on the back wheel. She flipped the invisibility switch, opened the throttle wide, and roared up into the sky.

She emerged from the canopy of the forest trailing broken twigs and leaves, then aimed higher and rose into the clouds. She made rapid progress through the darkening sky, the loose edges of the invisibility cloak flapping furiously at her sides. Sirius's jacket would've been welcome at that point. It was far too cold for Tempest to take off the cloak, but as ever, she was reminded how unsuited for flying wizarding wear was.

Tempest flew until the forest gave way to hilly ground, until the Black Lake looked no larger than a penny-piece in the distance, and until the mountains loomed up near her. Hogsmeade lay a several kilometers to the right of her as she dipped lower in the air, staying close to the craggy surface. She was about halfway down the mountain when she spotted what she was looking for.

Mid-air, perhaps six metres off the ground Tempest slipped her wand out of its holster and cut the engine. Already falling, she shrunk the bike beneath her and stuffed it into her pocket. She hit the ground a second later.

Save for the slight bending of her knees, Tempest landed far lighter and easier than anyone else might have. She tugged the invisibility cloak off and straightened up with a grin.

"So we meet again, Black."

"So we do, Potter," replied Sirius. He had stepped out from the narrow rock that hid the cave in the mountains where he had stayed in the last term, and now he faced her, _finally_ within reach. He only lingered where he stood briefly, a few steps ahead of Tempest, before a grin split his face as well, and he stepped forwards to hug her.

Tempest met him halfway and with her chin hooked over his shoulder, she breathed in the familiar scent of his aftershave, along with the smell of whiskey that lingered on his clothes. When Tempest finally stepped back, she glanced up at the deep blue sky. "Nightfall isn't far off."

Sirius offered her his arm. "Then this way, my lady."

Tempest grasped his arm, and together they twisted through space.

Remus was propped against a thick knotted root when Tempest and Sirius appeared with a snapping crack in the clearing. This time, Tempest barely stumbled, more prepared for the unpleasant sensation of apparition.

"Good to see you," managed Remus, looking up at her. Sweat was beading on his brow, and Tempest stooped to hug him briefly before crouching beside him.

"How're you holding up?" she asked, tossing the invisibility cloak over to where she saw Remus' change of clothes, neatly folded on another exposed root.

"Just… _fine,_ " groaned Remus, "I… hear you have Umbridge as… professor-"

"I wish I could pitch her out a few windows, high up," said Tempest, "I'm sorry I haven't."

" _Ha_ ," said Remus, his voice strained, and Tempest patted him on the back before rising to help Sirius with the wards.

They were in a different part of the woods than last full moon; here the trees were tall and straight trunked, their wide-spreading branches stretching upwards creating a web above them. There were smatterings of small dark wildflowers growing here and there in the long grass.

Then the dim light dappling the clearing brightened, and Remus doubled over with a hoarse scream. In the moments before Tempest shifted to Buck, she thought of how pretty the glade was. It was a shame most of it would be torn up in the next few minutes.

This full moon went far smoother than the last.

Moony seemed to faintly remember them from last full moon, and the initial chase he gave was less vicious and more confused. Twice he whined when Buck and Padfoot darted away, and when they slowed, he was playful, bowling them over and snuffling at their stomachs in a distinctly friendly manner.

Buck the wolf would always find the werewolf an object of caution, one to instinctively shy away from; but the human part of her was beginning to find Moony quite good fun.

In the early hours of the morning, when Moony had calmed down and was trying to claw up a tree to reach a petrified squirrel, Padfoot made his way over to Buck and pointed his nose off in the direction of the clearing they had just come from. He waited until Buck had nodded, then swished his tail to the side. _One. Two._

 _Three._

They took off through the trees, leaving a trail of torn grass in their wake.

Moony soon gave chase, a cheerful growl rumbling deep in his chest- but he was slower, thinking it was a game. Though the night might've been less intense than the previous one, Buck was exhausted nonetheless. Still, she forced her stride to lengthen, to _fly_ across the grass, until she finally burst back into the original clearing.

Buck threw herself forward, not slowing, and with one concentrated thought, shifted back into Tempest.

Her hand closed around the invisibility cloak, and she hit the ground hard, twisting around to look for Padfoot-turned-Sirius, who threw out one desperate hand. His fingers clasped tightly around Tempest's wrist, and they twisted.

Just as they were whipped away, Tempest saw Moony, blurred between the trees, his eyes burning and jaws slavering. Then he was gone, but Tempest was left with the sick feeling that if he had caught them, he would have torn them apart happily.

They crashed back into the ground in the mountains, laughing.

Well- laughing seemed too definite a word- Tempest wheezed once then fell silent, while Sirius managed to huff out a few chuckles that made it sound like he had a punctured lung. Tempest knew what that sounded like.

" _Hell_ ," panted Tempest, "another inch and he would have had us."

"Never again," promised Sirius fervently.

"Agreed," breathed Tempest, "never again until next time."

This time Sirius's laughter lasted until he ran out of breath.

They continued to lie there on the cool stone of the mountain cave for a long while. There were multiple stones digging uncomfortably into Tempest's back, but she couldn't be bothered to move.

After a while, Sirius spoke; "So you found a place to practice your spells and stuff then?"

"I did," said Tempest, "I actually had to ask the house elf I know if he knew a place. He told me about this amazing room, I dunno if you know about it- The Room of Requirement. It's on the seventh floor, it transforms to suit your needs."

Sirius stirred slightly at the mention, "Seventh floor, you say?" he said curiously, "it can become anything?"

"Anything," affirmed Tempest, "it was a sound proof room when I was practicing my spells, then tiled when I started brewing… do you know it?"

"I think we _used_ it in our Marauder years," said Sirius, sounding peeved now. "The mysterious vanishing room… we could never find it again whenever we looked," he complained, "a broom cupboard one time, replica of the Hospital Wing one night when Moony got his teeth around Prongs' leg…"

Tempest winced at the mention, but brightened at the thought of the Marauders using the room as well. "It only appears when you need it to," she said, "well, that's what I was told."

"All these years and I never knew," said Sirius regretfully, "though I don't suppose anyone in their own time at Hogwarts ever manages to discover all its secrets. Had to come to terms with that… might've considered it a personal failure that I hadn't managed to peel back those stone walls in my time… I'm glad you found it though. I was thinking you might actually settle for the Chamber of Secrets if you got desperate- what?"

Tempest had propped herself up on an elbow and stared in utter bemusement at Sirius.

"You didn't even think of the Chamber, did you?" said Sirius, his lips twitching upwards.

"Oh shut up," huffed Tempest.

She felt fingers clasp her wrist again, and she rolled her head to see Sirius looking at her watch.

"Five twenty six," said Sirius quietly, "did you want to get a couple hours sleep before tomorrow?"

Sleep would be golden, Tempest thought. She knew she would be exhausted the next day, and whatever little sleep she could get, she knew she needed.

"We have time," she said.

But they did have to go eventually, and they did, picking themselves up off the floor of the cave and making ready to head back. Sirius grinned smugly when Tempest expanded the bike outside of the cave, the phrase ' _Sirius is awesome_ ' making Tempest roll her eyes, only partially pretending the posturing annoyed her.

Finally, with the invisibility cloak thrown over her shoulders, Tempest's disembodied head faced Sirius.

"You keep safe and out of trouble," she said.

"The same to you," replied Sirius. "Till next time."

 _'Next time'_ stuck in Tempest's head like a promise, and she looked very seriously at Sirius. "Will I be seeing you next Hogsmeade weekend, or have you reconsidered?"

"Why on earth would I have reconsidered?" said Sirius, looking at Tempest very strangely. "I'm itching to get out- tonight's run was the most fun I've had since you left- unless…" he trailed off. " _You've_ reconsidered."

Tempest tramped down on the guilty feeling that surfaced immediately. "You know I wish you didn't have to be cooped up all the time," she said, "but… yes. It just… it seems like an unnecessary risk to take when I can already see you like this…"

"No, of course," said Sirius, whose expression was now shuttered, "only you seemed excited when I brought it up first, and I thought you'd like to get together again-"

"Don't be like that," said Tempest, wondering at how the conversation had soured so quickly, "if I had it my way, we'd be meeting every afternoon for tea and scones, but this isn't about what I want, it's about the risk-"

Sirius took a step back then, not looking at her, but rather studying the curve of the handlebars intently. Tempest had the feeling that once she mounted it, he wouldn't linger long before apparating straight back to the woods.

"The risk is what would have made it exciting for James," said Sirius abruptly. "You're less like your father than I thought."

And Tempest, about to depart on _Sirius's_ bike, wearing her _father's_ cloak and the lightning shaped scar that stretched down her face as a constant reminder of her _parents'_ sacrifice, felt less like a person than ever before. It hurt, in a manner that she was altogether unaccustomed to.

"Well," said Tempest tightly, "perhaps that's a good thing. As he's dead."

She said the words harshly, and Sirius's head jolted up, looked shocked at the simple statement of fact.

"So quit sulking," snapped Tempest, eager to get the conversation over and done with, because it wasn't a conversation she wanted to have. "I'm trying to keep you alive, I'm trying to keep you out of Azkaban, which is almost as bad… so _I'm not sorry_ that I don't want you to visit in Hogsmeade, because it's not necessary, it's self-indulgent, and I'm not going to risk _everything_ for a bit of excitement _._ "

Sirius said nothing.

Then, his brow creased, and he took two steps forward and hugged her.

It was not a particularly long or comforting hug; Tempest was too surprised to reciprocate, so she merely stood there while he had his arms around her, and then he stepped away.

"All right," he said quietly, " _I'm_ sorry _._ I'll see you next full moon."

Tempest jerked her head down in a nod and started the motorbike.

When she was invisible, Tempest looked back at the mountain path. Sirius remained where he was, staring off in the direction that she had flown. It was not until she had reached the underside of the clouds and the roar of the motorcycle must have faded for Sirius, that she saw his figure vanish.

Tempest did not wake on Thursday morning; she hadn't been to bed at all.

Instead she met George walking down to breakfast, and he eyed her sleep-shadowed eyes with concern.

"You look like hell," he said.

"Thanks," muttered Tempest. "Didn't get much sleep. I'm fucking sore too. I wouldn't be surprised if I had bruises places, I hit the ground quite hard…" George made a muffled exclamation, and Tempest realised it wasn't in line with her cover story. She forced her sluggish mind to think quickly. "I was wrestling a friend," she finished lamely.

George thankfully, did not look suspicious; he looked even more concerned, and perhaps a touch sad. Tempest blinked, and the melancholy expression was gone. He was quiet through breakfast, which was a relief, as Tempest now had the pounding headache she had pretended to have the previous day, and she dozed off twice at the Gryffindor table, having to be nudged awake.

"What have you been _doing?_ " asked Ron, prodding her on their way to the first class of the day.

"Nothing," mumbled Tempest, rubbing at her eyes. "What do we have? History of Magic? Excellent, I'll sleep though."

If Tempest had been more awake to notice, she might've seen the reproving look on Hermione's face. She said nothing however, and Tempest did nap through the class, to be woken when the bell rang for their next.

Perhaps it had been strategy, because that night, when Tempest was steamed and relaxed just out of the shower, she ran straight into Hermione outside the bathroom, with a determined look in her eye.

"Tempest," she said, "I was wondering whether you'd thought any more about Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Tempest looked blearily at Hermione. She had sleepwalked through the day and somehow miraculously she was finally done and geared up for some proper sleep, yet Hermione was putting that off for her.

"Why would I?" said Tempest, "We haven't had it today, and I avoid thinking of that woman's class as much as I can."

"I mean the idea we had- about you teaching us."

Tempest blinked several times; looked past Hermione at her bed, then back at Hermione. "Fine, I'll do it," she said. "I'll bloody teach you and Ron, for as much good as it'll do you. Could I get to bed then?"

"That's another thing," said Hermione edgily.

" _What?_ "

"It won't just be me and Ron," she said carefully, "I mean… I mentioned the idea to a couple of people, and they were interested as well… I thought you ought to teach anyone who would want to learn. This is about defending ourselves, right?"

Tempest really wasn't up for deep thought at the moment, so she nodded resignedly. "Whatever you like, Hermione. Just let them know to keep their expectations low: I don't have the foggiest idea what I'll do."

"I'll tell them," said Hermione, "but I think you underestimate how many people would be interested in what you have to say. Look- I'll let you get to sleep, but we'll talk more in the morning right?"

"Right," said Tempest.

In the first week of October, there was a Hogsmeade weekend, and Hermione very cheerfully reminded Tempest that she had said she would teach anyone who wanted to learn: she therefore had to be there for their first meeting, one where they would talk things over with the other students who were coming.

Tempest had decided to go along with it. She _had_ said she would, even if she felt she had been mostly coerced- something she found she was actually rather proud of Hermione for. Her thoughts were rather more occupied with Sirius though, and the pit of guilt that had formed the last time she had seen him and had remained lodged there ever since.

It was a bright but cold and windy day, which had Tempest thinking fondly of Sirius's jacket, spelled against the cold and damp, somewhere back at Grimmauld Place.

She had told Sirius not to come, and she hadn't heard a peep from him since. She _wasn't_ sorry, and she wouldn't ever be, not for keeping him safe, but Tempest couldn't help looking about the village as they reached the main road, wishing he was there.

"Quit looking so glum," said Ron in a break from the conversation he and Hermione were having, "I know most people think you're a nutter, but this lot wants to learn from you, so they can't think that, can they?"

"We'll see," said Tempest. "Where's the meeting at then, Hermione?"

"Hog's Head," replied Hermione, "I don't know if you know it- it's the other pub, you know, not on the main road, a bit… _dodgy,_ but other students don't normally go in there, so I don't think we'll be overheard."

Tempest swallowed at the mention. Not too long ago, she had been bleeding out before that pub, brought inside by the barkeep and he had been… kind. He had contacted the school… he might just have saved her life.

They walked down the main street past Zonko's Joke Shop, past the post office, and turned up a side street at the top of which stood a small inn. Tempest's eyes fell on the part of the road where she thought she might have appeared, and looked up at the building. A battered wooden sign hung from a rusty bracket over the door, with a picture of a wild boar's severed head leaking blood onto the white cloth around it. The sign creaked in the wind as they approached.

In the daylight and not bleeding out, Tempest made her way up to the door, leading the way inside.

She could not remember the pub from _that_ night, only the impression that it smelt strongly of animal, and the same smell hit her just as strongly when they walked in. The pub was nothing like the other in Hogsmeade- the Three Broomsticks, whose large bar gave an impression of gleaming warmth and cleanliness. Rather this bar comprised one small, dingy and very dirty room. The bay windows were so encrusted with grime that very little daylight could permeate the room, which was lit instead with the stubs of candles sitting on rough wooden tables.

The floor at first glance seemed to be earthy, though when Tempest stepped onto it, she realised there was stone beneath what seemed to be the accumulated filth of centuries.

The room was not empty, but Tempest saw no other students either. The other occupants were all adults, none of whom Tempest would have liked to meet down any alleyway, dark or not.

There was a man at the bar whose whole head was wrapped in dirty gray bandages, though he was still managing to gulp endless glasses of some smoking, fiery substance through a slit over his mouth. Two figures shrouded in hoods sat at a table in one of the windows, talking in strong Yorkshire accents; in a shadowy corner beside the fireplace sat a witch with a thick, black veil that fell to her toes.

Tempest assessed them all, but recognized none. She stared particularly hard at the veiled witch, the fabric obscuring any identifying features. But eventually Tempest decided she knew no women of that stature.

"I thought here would be best," said Hermione in a hushed voice, the door falling shut behind them. "I mean, we're not doing anything wrong, I double and triple checked the school rules, and I asked Professor Filtwick specifically if we were allowed here, and he said yes, but he advised me strongly to bring our own glasses. I just don't think it's a good idea if we _parade_ what we're doing."

"Good point," said Ron, and he puffed up his chest, walking a step before Tempest and Hermione when they made their way to the counter.

The barman sidled toward them out of a back room. He was a grumpy-looking old man with a great deal of long gray hair and beard. He was tall and thin and Tempest vaguely remembered his rough hands placing some blanket over her shoulders. She had left with Dumbledore almost as soon as they arrived, and she hadn't said a single thank you.

"What?" he grunted.

"Three butterbeers, thank you," said Ron.

The man reached beneath the counter and pulled up three very dusty, very dirty boddles, which he slammed on the bar. "Six sickles," he said.

"I've got it," said Tempest, passing over the silver. The barman's eyes traveled up Tempest's face, focusing briefly as he recognized her. Then he turned away and deposited her money in an ancient till.

Tempest waited until Ron and Hermione had moved away to a table, before regaining the barman's attention. "There was another thing," she said quietly, "the last time I was here... You… you helped me, when you didn't have to, you were kind, when you didn't need to be… I wanted to say thank you. Sincerely. For that."

The barman looked up from the counter slowly, his face partially obscured by his scraggly beard. Finally, he grunted; "It was no trouble."

"Well I appreciated it," said Tempest, "also… Could I ask your name?"

She thought for a long moment that he would turn away and give no answer. But then, from behind his beard, he said gruffly, "Alberforth."

He gave no last name, but he didn't need to. She connected the dots in her mind swiftly. Now that she was looking, there were definite similarities. The barman must have seen her eyes widen, because he scowled and nodded off at Ron and Hermione. "You get on now," he said, and picked up a rag to begin wiping some grimy glasses.

Tempest rejoined Ron and Hermione, both of whom gave her curious looks, but she shook her head and sat down.

"We really should come here more," said Ron enthusiastically, looking over at the bar and watching Alberforth pour a man in dirty gray bandages another drink. "I bet we could order anything we liked in here, and the bloke wouldn't care. I've always wanted to try firewhisky-"

"You- are- a- _prefect,_ " snarled Hermione.

"Oh," said Ron, the smile fading from his face, "yeah…"

"Firewhisky's all right," mused Tempest, "or at least the kind Sirius has. Best alcohol I've had actually."

" _Tempest_!" hissed Hermione, scandalized.

"Calm down," said Tempest, "it was just the once. And Sirius's been careful not to drink it around me since, so-" the thought of Sirius, his decanters of whisky and the emptiness of Grimmauld Place left a bitter taste in her mouth, and she set her bottle of butterbeer aside. "So who's coming to this?"

"Just a couple of people," Hermione said vaguely. She checked her watch then looked to the door. "I told them to be here about now, and I'm sure they all know where it is- oh look, this might be them now-"

The door of the pub had opened. A thick band of dusty sunlight split the room in two for a moment and then vanished, blocked by the incoming rush of a crowd of people.

First came Neville with Dean and Lavender, who were closely followed by Parvati and Padma Patil with Cho and one of her friends, then Luna Lovegood; then Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and Angelina Johnson, Colin and Dennis Creevey, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, and a Hufflepuff girl with a long plait down her back; Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner and Terry Boot of Ravenclaw, Ginny, followed by a tall skinny blond boy with an upturned nose who Tempest recognized as on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, and bringing up the rear, Fred and George Weasley with Lee Jordan, all three of whom were carrying large paper bags crammed with Zonko's merchandise.

Tempest stared.

She rounded on Hermione. "You said a _couple_."

"Yes, well, the idea seemed quite popular," said Hermione happily. "Ron do you want to pull up some chairs?"

Alberforth had frozen in the act of wiping out a glass.

"Hi," said Fred, reaching the bar first and counting his companions quickly. "Could we have… twenty-five butterbeers, please?" Bottles passed over, he began handing them out. "Cough up, everyone, I haven't got enough gold for all of these…"

Tempest watched in horror as the large group began rummaging for coins. George slipped by his twin and pulled up a chair beside Tempest.

"Hey there," he said, raising his bottle, "you look horrified."

"I was misled," said Tempest coldly, glaring at Hermione. "What did you tell them to get them here?" she hissed, "what are they expecting?"

"I've told you, they just want to hear what you've got to say," said Hermione soothingly, but Tempest continued to look at her with such anger that she added quickly, "you don't have to do anything yet, I'll speak to them first."

"Hi, Tempest," said Neville, beaming and taking a seat opposite her.

Tempest tried to soften her stony look unsuccessfully, and her mouth pulled into a grimace instead.

Cho sat down next to Ron, and Tempest felt another rush of guilt. Neither she nor her friend met Tempest's eyes, and Tempest wondered why on _earth_ they were there at all.

In twos and threes the new arrivals settled around Tempest, Ron and Hermione, some looking rather excited, others curious. When everybody had pulled up a chair, the chatter died out. Every eye was upon Tempest.

Tempest ignored all of them and looked resolutely at Hermione.

"Er," said Hermione, her voice slightly higher than usual, "well- er- hi."

The group focused its attention on her instead, though eyes continued to dart regularly back to Tempest.

"Well… erm… well, you know why you're here. Erm… well, I had the idea- that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defence Against the Dark Arts- and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us, because nobody could call that Defence against the Dark Arts-"

"Hear, hear," said Anthony Goldstein, and Hermione looked heartened. "Well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands. " She paused, looking sideways at Tempest, then carried on hurriedly. "And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just in theory but doing the real spells-"

"You want to pass your Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL too, though, I bet?" said Michael Corner.

"Of course I do," said Hermione at once. "But more than that, I want to be properly trained in defence because… because…" she took a great breath and finished, "because Lord Voldemort is back."

It was the first time that Tempest had heard Hermione use Voldemort's name. It was _that,_ perhaps, that cleared her head slightly, and made her shake the anger that had come across her so suddenly- the feeling of having been betrayed.

Other's reactions were less reserved. Cho's friend shrieked, Terry Boot gave a kind of involuntary twitch; Padama Patil shuddered, and Neville gave an odd yelp that he managed to turn into a cough. All of them though, then looked fixedly, even eagerly at Tempest.

"Well… that's the plan, anyway," said Hermione. "If you want to join us, we need to decide how we're going to-"

"Where's the proof that You-Know-Who's back?" said the blond Hufflepuff in a rather aggressive voice.

"Well Dumbledore believes it-" began Hermione.

"You mean, Dumbledore believes _her_ ," he said, nodding at Tempest.

"Who are _you_?" said Ron, rather rudely.

"Zacharias Smith," said Zacharias Smith, "and I think we've got the right to know exactly what makes _her_ say You-Know-Who's back."

"Look," said Hermione, intervening swiftly, "That's really not what this meeting was supposed to be about-"

"No, it's fine," said Tempest.

It was the first thing she had said to the group at large, and silence fell immediately. She knew now, why so many people were here, why Hermione's idea had caught on so quickly- most of the people had turned up in the hopes of hearing her tell the story, get a good piece of gossip to take back and trivialize.

"I'm not here to try and convince you lot of something you've refused to believe if that's what you've done." She said, "Dumbledore told you what happened, and I'm not up for flogging a dead horse."

Zacharias said dismissively, "All Dumbledore told us last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you managed to escape after. He didn't give us details, he didn't tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, I think we'd all like to know-"

"Why do you need details?" said Tempest. Her temper, already risen, was beginning to heat her face. "What possible reason could you have for needing that? Cedric Diggory died, I'm here to try and teach Defense Against the Dark Arts- _any_ dark arts, whether you believe Voldemort is back or not. Because I know what can happen- we all know what can happen. But I'm not discussing Cedric. You _want_ details, Smith. If you _want_ to know how it looks when Voldemort murders someone, I suggest you go out looking for him. But if you're here to sate your fucking _curiosity,_ you may as well get out."

A tense silence fell. No one left their seats, not even Smith, who had averted his eyes, but looked mulish.

"So," said Hermione, her voice high-pitched again, "So… like I was saying… if you want to learn some defense, then we need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to meet and-"

"Is it true," interrupted the girl with the plait, looking at Tempest, "that you can produce a Patronus?"

"Yes," said Tempest tightly, trying to calm down. "What's your name?"

"I'm Susan Bones, my auntie works at the Ministry, that's how I heard… So- is it really true? You can make a doe Patronus?"

"Stallion," corrected Tempest, "but yes."

"Blimey, Tempest!" said Lee, looking very impressed, "I never knew that!"

"Mum told us not to spread it around," George said, grinning at Tempest. "Said you got enough attention as it was."

"Well tell her it worked," said Tempest wryly, "I practically go unnoticed now."

A couple of people laughed.

"And did you kill a basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?" demanded Terry Boot. "That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year…"

"Yes, I did," said Tempest.

Justin Finch-Fletchley whistled; the Creevey brothers exchanged awestruck looks, and Lavender Brown said 'Wow!' softly.

"And in our first year," said Neville to the group at large, "she saved that Philological Stone-"

"Philosopher's," hissed Hermione.

"Yes, that- from You-Know-Who," finished Neville.

Hannah Abbott's eyes were as round as Galleons.

"Right," said Tempest, and everyone fell silent at once, "I don't see how any of this is relevant… It sounds… cool, when you put it like that, but it really wasn't, when it was all happening. Most of it was luck, really-"

"Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?" said Smith.

"Here's an idea," said Ron loudly, before Tempest could speak, "why don't you shut your mouth?" Ron seemed particularly affected, as he was now looking at Smith as though he would like nothing better than to thump him.

Smith flushed. "Well, we've all turned up to learn from her, and now she's tell us she can't really do any of it."

"That's not what she said," snarled George.

"No, that's not what I said," repeated Tempest, shooting George a cautionary look. "I meant- _full disclosure_ , that I can teach you spells and stuff you might not be too familiar on, but I want you to know, that my 'qualifications' aren't the end all of this. It'd have been far better if we had an actual DADA teacher who was qualified for this, but seeing as we don't…"

"Exactly," said Hermione, regaining the attention of the group. "We're agreed on that then? That we want to take lessons from Tempest?"

There was a murmur of general agreement. Zacharias folded his arms and said nothing.

"By virtue of there being no better option," added Tempest, and a few people laughed.

Hermione looked rather relieved that most of the tension had dissipated. "Well then the next question is how often we meet. I really don't think there's any point in meeting less than once a week-"

"Hang on," said Angelina, "we need to make sure this doesn't clash with our Quidditch practice."

"No," said Cho, "nor with ours."

"Nor ours," added Smith.

"I'm sure we can find a night that suits everyone," said Hermione, slightly impatiently, "but you know, this is rather important, we're talking about learning to defend ourselves against V- Voldemort's Death Eaters-"

"Well said!" barked Ernie Macmillan, "Personally, I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we'll do this year, even with our OWL's coming up!" He looked around impressively, then continued, "I, personally, am at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher on us at this critical period. Obviously, they are in denial about the return of You-Know-Who, but to give us a teacher who is trying to actively prevent us from using defensive spells-"

"We think the reason Umbridge doesn't want us trained in Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione, "is that she's got some… some mad idea that Dumbledore could use the students in the school as some sort of private army. She thinks he'd mobilize us against the Ministry."

Nearly everybody looked stunned at this news, everybody except Luna Lovegood, who piped up, "Well, that makes sense. After all, Cornelius Fudge has his own private army."

"What?"

"Yes, he's got an army of Heliopaths." Luna said solemnly.

"No, he hasn't," snapped Hermione.

"Yes, he has," said Luna.

"What are Heliopaths?" asked Neville, looking blank.

"They're spirits of fire," said Luna, her protuberant eyes widening, "great tall flaming creatures that gallop across the ground burning everything in front of-"

"They don't exist, Neville," said Hermione tartly.

"Oh yes they do!" said Luna angrily.

"I'm sorry, but where's the proof of that?" snapped Hermione.

"Okay," said Tempest loudly, "this is off topic. We were deciding how often we would meet."

"Yes," said Hermione at once, composing herself, "yes, we were."

"Well, once a week sounded cool," said Lee Jordan.

"So long as-"

"Yes, yes, I know Angelina," Hermione sighed. "We'll set the specific time later and contact you all… now, next is a place to meet…"

"Library?" suggested Katie Bell after a few moments.

"Too public," said Tempest, recent discoveries flashed through her mind, and she gave a brief smile. "No worries. I've got a place sorted. I'll just… straighten a few things out then we'll get a message around to everyone when we have a time for everyone. Sound good, Hermione?"

"One more thing," said Hermione. She rummaged in her bag and produced parchment and a quill, then hesitated, rather as though she was steeling herself to say something. "I- I think everyone should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think," she took a deep breath, "that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we're doing. So if you sign, you're agreeing not to tell Umbridge- or anyone else- what we're up to."

Fred and George made a show of lunging for the paper, and both cheerfully signed, but immediately several people in the room looked less than happy at the prospect of putting their names on the list.

"Er…" Smith said slowly, not taking the parchment that George was trying to pass to him, "well… I'm sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is."

But Ernie was looking rather hesitant about signing, too. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.

"I- well, we are prefects!" Ernie burst out. "And if this list was found… well, I mean to say… you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out-"

"We're not pinning this up on some noticeboard," said Tempest pointedly, "consider the list as… solidarity."

Ernie looked slightly less anxious, but his hand was still hesitant as he wrote his name.

No one raised objections after Ernie, though Tempest saw Cho's friend give her a rather reproachful look before adding her name. When the list reached Tempest, she wrote her name, then lingered before passing it on. The parchment hummed beneath her fingertips, a subtle yet unmistakable feeling.

When the last person had signed, Hermione took the parchment back and slipped it carefully into her bag.

"Well, time's ticking on," said Fred briskly, getting to his feet. "George, Lee and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we'll be seeing you all later, Tempest, want to come?"

"I need to talk to some people," said Tempest, "but thanks."

"I'll catch up," said George, nodding to Fred.

"Right, well see you two later," said Fred and left.

Hermione had swung her bag over her shoulder when Tempest turned to her. "There was a spell on that parchment we signed, wasn't there?"

Hermione looked shocked for a brief moment, before nodding slightly. "How did you-"

"You talked about oaths," said Tempest, "when I was telling you about the Order. I'm guessing that was some sort of binding contract we all entered into?"

"Yes," said Hermione, still looking very carefully at Tempest. "Well, sort of, it's more of a- how long have you been able to sense magic like that?"

"Dunno," said Tempest, "you know our upbringings didn't put us around much magical stuff, so I wouldn't know when it started- actually, you and Ron go on ahead of me," she said, spotting Cho, who was making rather a business of fastening the catch on her bag, clearly delaying leaving, even as her friend stood impatiently by her.

Tempest made her way over, and Cho straightened up. "Hi, Tempest," she said, "I'm really glad you're having these lessons. I think… I think it's what Cedric would've wanted."

"Yeah I'd like to think so too," said Tempest, looking at Cho's friend, before refocusing on Cho.

Cho said nothing for a moment, looking down at the ground with her long hair covering her face. Then she turned to her friend and swallowed. "Marietta, sorry, but could I talk to Tempest alone for a bit?"

Looking deeply disgruntled, Marietta moved off, and Tempest waited awkwardly until she was well out of earshot. "It's not the easiest of topics to talk about, is it?"

Cho made a brave attempt at something close to a smile, and she said, "no. I actually… that's why I stayed. You were with him when he died, and I heard what you said… about how the rest of us didn't need to know how Cedric died- and I appreciate that… it's just… _I_ need to know-"

"Yeah, I know," said Tempest.

She paused for a moment. She understood, she did. Perhaps because she believed Cho was the only one of the group who cared in the right way. Who perhaps thought of Cedric as often as Tempest did- if not more, and wondered what he had thought of in his last moments.

And Tempest had to disappoint.

"I wasn't with him when he died," she said quietly, "I was… a distance away. There was a fight, and when… when Voldemort hit him with the killing curse, he fell on the cup. That's how his body managed to… appear back. It was very quick, I don't know if he had " said Tempest, "He died a hero, and that doesn't change, regardless of who knows about it."

Cho had gone very, very white.

"If that helps, at all, with closure, then I'm glad," said Tempest stiltedly, "he-"

"Excuse me," said Cho abruptly, and with ducked head, she left the Hogs Head, the door banging open in her path.

Her friend quickly followed, shooting Tempest a dark look.

George fell in beside Tempest and they both looked after Cho and her friend as the door swung shut behind them.

"What did you say to her?" he said.

"Not what she wanted to hear," said Tempest.

The past few days, she had gotten enough rest. No detentions, no excessively late nights or early mornings, yet Tempest felt suddenly exhausted. They went outside into the bright sunlight, and Tempest winced, shading her eyes. Her scar was prickling again, headache building behind her left eye.

An arm dropped over her shoulders.

"George, _what_ are you doing?"

George grinned innocently. "Providing comfort."

"I don't need fucking _comfort,_ " snapped Tempest, shaking off his arm, "go comfort Cho- she's the one who lost her boyfriend-"

"I didn't know you cared so much about that," said George, "besides, they hadn't been going out that long anyway-"

"And then he died," said Tempest. "Half of how much she cares might be just because of how idealistic it sounds. We _could've_ been so happy together- but then he died. Tragic. We think things are better than they actually are when we don't have the opportunity to find out, but whatever the reality, it doesn't stop you from _feeling_ it."

"I suppose it doesn't," said George quietly.

Monday morning, Tempest and Hermione were changing into their robes, only to be distracted as a wailing claxon sounded, and there was a loud yell from the general direction of the stairs.

"What the hell-"

Hermione and Tempest exchanged glances before throwing on the last of their robes and exiting the room.

When Tempest reached the stairs, she stared for a moment before chuckling. "Merlin, Ron, why on earth were you trying to get into the girl's dormitories?"

"I didn't know that would happen!" Ron said, turning a bright red from where he had landed, clearly winded at the bottom of the stairs. "It's not fair! You two are allowed in our dormitory-"

Tempest slid neatly down the stairs to land beside Ron. "As a general rule, we aren't meant in your dorms either- but really as we get older, it's a bit more enforced."

"It's an old fashioned rule," Hermione said, sliding neatly to a stop in front of Ron. "It says in _Hogwarts a History_ , that the founders thought boys were less trustworthy than girls. Anyway, to follow up Tempest's question, what were you doing, trying to get in there?"

"To get you- look at this!" Ron grabbed both their arms, dragging them over to the Gryffindor noticeboard.

A large sign had been affixed to it, so large it covered everything else on it- the lists of second-hand spell books for sale, the regular reminders of school rules from Argus Filch, the Quidditch team training timetable, the offers to barter certain Chocolate Frog Cards for others, the Weasley's latest advertisement for testers, dates of the Hogsmeade weekends and the lost and found notices.

The new sign was printed in large black letters and there was a highly official-looking seal at the bottom beside a neat and curly signature.

 _BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS:_

 _All student organisations, societies, teams, groups and clubs are henceforth disbanded._

 _An organisation, society, team, group or club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students._

 _Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge)_

 _No student organisation, society, team, group or club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor._

 _Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an organisation, society, team, group or club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled._

 _The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four._

 _Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor._

"So?" Ron said impatiently, "Do you see? Someone must have blabbed to her!"

Hermione's expression was stony. "They can't have done."

"You're so naïve," said Ron, "you think just because you're all honorable and trustworthy-"

"No, they can't have done, because I put a jinx on that piece of parchment we all signed," said Hermione grimly. "Believe me, if anyone's run off and told Umbridge, we'll know exactly who they are and they will really regret it."

Ron turned to Tempest, mouth gapping. "Did you know?"

"Yeah, I did-"

"What'll happen to them?" said Ron eagerly.

"Well, put it this way," said Hermione, blushing slightly. "It'll make Eloise Midgeon's acne look like a couple of cute freckles. Come on, let's get down to breakfast and see what others think… I wonder whether this has been put up in all the houses?"

It was immediately apparent on entering the Great Hall that Umbridge's sign had not only appeared in Gryffindor Tower. There was a strange intensity about the chatter and an extra measure of movement in the Hall as people scurried up and down their tables conferring on what they had read. The three of them had barely taken their seats when Fred, George, Ginny, Neville and Dean swarmed them.

"Did you see it?"

"D'you reckon she knows?"

"What are we doing to do?"

They were all looking at Tempest. She glanced up at the staff table, then back at their eager faces.

"Lessons are still on, of course," she said.

"Knew you'd say that," said George, beaming and sitting down beside Tempest, stealing a piece of toast from her plate.

"The prefects as well?" said Fred, looking quizzically at Ron and Hermione.

"Of course," said Hermione coolly.

"Here come Ernie and Hannah Abbott," said Ron, looking over his shoulder, "and those Ravenclaw blokes and Smith… and no one looks very spotty."

Hermione looked alarmed. "Never mind spots, the idiots can't come over here now, it'll look really suspicious- sit down!" she mouthed to Ernie and Hannah, gesturing frantically to them to re-join the Hufflepuff table. "Later! We'll-talk-to-you-later!"

Tempest swatted at Hermione. "Oh for heaven's sake, you're making even more of a scene-"

"I'll tell Michael," said Ginny impatiently, swinging herself off her bench, "the fool, honestly…" She hurried off to the Ravenclaw table, and Tempest turned back to her toast only to see Ron scowling angrily at his porridge as though it had mortally offended him.

"What's wrong?"

" _Bloody_ Corner." Ron ground out.

Tempest turned to George for elaboration.

He shrugged. "Ginny's dating Corner."

Ron looked mulish. "I liked it better when she had a crush on you."

Tempest arched an eyebrow. "Ron, I don't like girls."

"Yeah, I know, it was great," said Ron. "Kept her out of trouble-"

"Isn't it better she's moved on?" said Tempest edgily. Ginny's… affection for her had been a better left unspoken part of her second and third years, and coupled with Creevy's attentions, it had made her distinctly uncomfortable. When the girl had finally stopped tailing Tempest hopefully and constantly asking her brothers about her, it had been a great relief.

"Well she might be _happier,_ yes," said Ron reluctantly, "still- _Corner,_ what does she see in him?"

"Oh don't ask me," said Tempest quickly, beginning to wrestle her last piece of toast back from George, "but let her be, Ron, she can handle herself. This notice though, it could be problematic. Some people might want to back out-"

"Tempest," said Hermione in surprise, "I didn't know you were that attached to the idea."

"I'm not," huffed Tempest, "I just don't want Umbridge to take _this_ from us."

They watched the rest of those who had attended the meeting and it soon became clear whoever had betrayed them to Umbridge could not have been one of the students. Which only left the other, adult inhabitants of the bar. Tempest seethed.

Hermione had gone out of her way to prevent them from being overheard- they had gone to the Hogs Head- made everyone sign a jinxed document… but Tempest couldn't help thinking that if she had just asked Alberforth to close the bar for a half-hour, none of this would have happened.

It would have been so simple- she could have reimbursed him for lost business; they wouldn't have had anyone else, not bound by contract, in the room. Tempest somehow knew Alberforth couldn't have sold them out- not because he was Dumbledore's brother, not because that _meant_ anything- because Tempest was perfectly aware that just because some people were family, didn't imply actual fidelity. Tempest just couldn't picture the gruff figure of Alberforth whispering teenage secrets to Umbridge in her pink, frilly, kitten-filled office.

The bad news compounded. When they left the Great Hall, they heard Angelina calling their names.

"Tempest! _Ron!_ " She was hurrying toward them looking perfectly desperate. "You realize she's including Quidditch in this?" she said, "we have to go and ask permission to re-form the Gryffindor team!"

" _What?_ " said Tempest.

"No way," said Ron, appalled.

When Tempest had first read the notice, the thought hadn't even occurred to her. The idea of the Gryffindor team being disbanded was unthinkable.

"You read the sign, it mentions teams too! So listen, Tempest… Please, please don't lose your temper with Umbridge again, or do something uncommonly stupid, or she might not let us play anymore!"

"Okay, Angelina, don't worry, I'm behaving myself," said Tempest, for Angelina looked as though she was on the verge of tears. "I won't say a word out of line."

"Yeah, well, behaving for you will be a struggle," Ron said grimly as Angelina vanished down the hallway. "We've got History of Magic, and she'll probably be there- she hasn't inspected Binns yet…"

But Ron was wrong; the only teacher present when they entered the dreary classroom was Professor Binns, floating an inch or so above his chair as usual and preparing to continue his monotonous drone on giant wars.

Tempest did as she always did, doodling idly on a piece of parchment, ignoring Hermione's constant huffs and glares. It wasn't until Hermione flicked ink at her and ruined the sketch of Buckbeak that Tempest had spent the past twenty-five minutes on, that she looked up and scowled. " _What?_ "

Hermione pointed at the window. Tempest looked around.

An ordinary looking brown owl was perched on the narrow ledge, gazing through the thick glass, a letter tied to the bird's leg. Tempest frowned in confusion. Surely the owl was not for her. She hadn't written to Sirius, nor did she think Remus would write as she would see them next full moon. After that rather short list, she couldn't think of any other correspondences she kept.

The owl flapped its wings and tapped on the glass impatiently. Its large eyes were fixed unmistakably on Tempest.

Tempest glanced at Binns, who proceeded to read his notes, serenely unaware of the goings on in his classroom. Tempest slipped out of her chair, and walked swiftly to the window, where she slid the catch and opened it.

Most post owls delivered their letters and left, however as soon as the window was open the owl hopped through the window and began hooting dolefully. Tempest frowned at the owl, scrutinizing it. The owl's feathers were oddly ruffled; some bent the wrong way, and one of its wings seemed to be disjointed.

"He's hurt," murmured Tempest, christening the owl a 'he'. She ducked to allow the owl to clamber onto her shoulder, then made her way back to her seat.

"Do you know the bird?" asked Hermione in a hushed tone.

"No," replied Tempest, "but his wing isn't in place-" she moved to carefully transfer the owl so that it was cradled in the crook of her arm, moved her arm slowly around to her back, and stood. "Professor Binns." she said loudly, "I'm not feeling well."

Everyone in the class turned to look at her. Binns raised his eyes from his notes, looking amazed, as always, to find the room in front of him full of people.

"Not feeling well?" he repeated hazily. He did not see the owl, which Tempest held behind her back. She swung her bag onto her shoulder.

"Terrible," agreed Tempest. "I need to go to the Hospital Wing."

"Yes," said Binns, clearly very much wrong footed. "Yes… yes, hospital wing… well, off you go, then, Miss Perkins…"

Outside the room, Tempest shifted the owl back to her shoulder and hurried off in the opposite direction of the hospital wing. Ideally, with an injured animal, she would have gone to Hagrid, but with Hagrid off treating with giants, she guessed Grubbly-Plank would do.

Tempest peered out of a window at the overcast grounds. There was no sign of her anywhere near Hagrid's cabin; if she was not teaching, she was probably in the staff room. Tempest set off downstairs, the owl hooting pitifully.

The two stone gargoyles that flanked the staff-room door unfroze as Tempest approached. "You should be in class, missy."

"I should do a lot of things," said Tempest, "look, this owl is injured, is Professor Grubbly-Plank in?"

The gargoyles exchanged looks. "She might be," they said, and Tempest nodded and knocked. She heard footsteps, and then the door opened and she found herself face to face with Minnie.

"You haven't gotten another detention!" she said at once, her square spectacles flashing alarmingly.

"Nice to know you have so little faith in me," said Tempest dryly, "but no."

Minnie relaxed ever so slightly. "Well then, why are you out of class?"

"I was looking for Professor Grubbly-Plank, this owl, it's injured."

"Injured owl, did you say?" Grubbly-Plank appeared at Minnie's shoulder, smoking a pipe and holding a copy of the Daily Prophet.

"Yes," said Tempest, lifting the owl off her shoulder gently, "he turned up after the other post owls, and his wing might be broken-"

Grubbly-Plank stuck her pipe firmly between her teeth and took the owl from Tempest while Minnie watched. "Hmm," said Grubbly-Plank, her pipe waggling slightly as she talked. "Looks like something attacked him. Can't think what could have done it though. Thestrals will sometimes go for birds, of course, but Hagrid's got the Hogwarts Thestrals well-trained not to touch owls."

Minnie looked sharply at Tempest. "Do you know how far this owl's travelled, Miss Potter?"

"No idea," replied Tempest. "I'd need to check the letter, but… possibly London."

Minnie gave a quick nod as Grubbly-Plank pulled a monocle out of the inside of her robes and screwed it into her eye, to examine the owl's wing closely. "I should be able to sort this out if you leave him with me, Miss Potter," she said, "he'll probably just fly back when he's fully healed."

"Thanks," said Tempest, "er, my letter, if I could."

Grubbly-Plank handed over the letter, then disappeared into the staff room carrying the owl, who looked back over its shoulder at Tempest with a final hoot. The bell rang, and Tempest turned to go.

"Miss Potter?"

Tempest whirled around. "Yes?"

Minnie glanced up and down the corridor; there were students coming from both directions.

"Bear in mind," said Minnie quietly, "that channels of communication in and out of Hogwarts are being watched, won't you? And for those you _usually_ write to… do keep those methods of communication discreet."

"Yeah," said Tempest, and Minnie gave her a curt nod and retreated into the staffroom, leaving Tempest to be swept away by the crowd of students. She went along, flipping open the letter as she went.

It was in Sirius's handwriting.

 ** _Today, same time, same place._**

"What are you so happy about?" asked Ron when Tempest met them in Potions, sitting down at their usual table at the back.

"Nothing much," said Tempest. She looked about the room, which was as silent as it usually was, with the exception of the very strange and unwelcome feeling which pressed against the back of her neck like an oppressive hand.

Umbridge was seated in a dim corner of the dungeon, clipboard resting on her knee.

"You will notice," said Snape in his low, sneering voice, "that we have a guest with us today."

It was strange. Having seen Umbridge inspecting Trelawney, Tempest had been struck with some sort of pity for the fraud, but no more than that. Here, with Snape, Tempest found herself rooting for the man. Acerbic and biting as he was, surely he would only tolerate Umbridge's presence as well as Minnie had.

Tempest found herself inadvertently speeding through the Strengthening solution, which they were continuing that day, trying to pay attention to what Snape and Umbridge were doing as well. Umbridge however, did very little for the first half-hour of the lesson, spending it making notes in the corner.

"Ron, you add the lavender after the dragon's blood," said Tempest absentmindedly, eyes following as Umbridge finally got to her feet and strode between two lines of desks towards Snape, who was bending over Dean Thomas's cauldron.

"Well, the class seem fairly advanced for their level," she said briskly to Snape's back. "Though I would question whether it is advisable to each them a potion like the Strengthening Solution. I think the Ministry would prefer it if that was removed from the syllabus."

Snape straightened up slowly and turned to look at her.

"Now… how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?" she asked, her quill poised over her clipboard.

"Fourteen years," replied Snape. His expression was unfathomable.

Momentarily distracted, Tempest did the math in her head, and realised Snape must have started teaching in his early twenties. It was strange to think, as cynical and irritable as he was, that he had commanded the respect of a room full of teenagers, only three or four years older than the seventh years.

"You applied first for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?" asked Umbridge.

"Yes," said Snape quietly.

"But you were unsuccessful?"

Snape's lip curled. "Obviously."

Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard. "And you have applied regularly for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?"

"Yes," said Snape through his teeth.

"Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?" asked Umbridge.

"Him over you," sighed Tempest, crushing a few sprigs of holly into her potion.

"I suggest you ask him," Snape said jerkily.

"Oh, I shall," said Umbridge, with a sweet smile.

"I suppose this is relevant?" asked Snape, his black eyes narrowed.

"Oh yes," said Umbridge, "yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers' -er- backgrounds."

She turned away, walked over to Parkinson and began questioning her about the lessons. Snape looked around, and his eyes met Tempest's for a second. Instinctively, Tempest gave him a bracing smile, one she'd taken to giving Sirius, when he was reminded of Dumbledore's orders, or Remus, when he looked particularly tired.

Recently, she'd expanded the number of recipients of 'the smile' to most anyone who looked suitably vexed when Umbridge was around. It seemed she had inadvertently added Snape to that list.

Mildly horrified, Tempest ducked back over her potion.

At the end of the class, those with less than satisfactory solutions were given extra homework, and Ron found him in a similar situation as his first week back at Hogwarts.

"I reckon I should skive off Divination," said Ron glumly as they stood in the courtyard after lunch, the wind whipping at the hems of their robes and brims of their hats. "Pretend I'm ill and do Snape's essay instead. We have Quidditch this evening, you know."

"You can't skive off Divination," said Hermione severely.

"Hark who's talking, you walked out of Divination, you hate Trelawney!" said Ron indignantly.

"I don't _hate_ her," said Hermione loftily. "I just think she's an absolutely appalling teacher and a real old fraud, but if you miss classes you're going to fall even more behind-"

"Compromise," interrupted Tempest, "go to Divination and do Potions when Trelawney isn't at our table."

Both Ron and Hermione seemed pacified by that, and things turned out quite well, as Trelawney was far too distracted to see that Tempest was helping Ron write out his essay rather than pursuing subject lines in _The Dream Oracle._

They discovered not long after; she had been put on probation.

Lavender and Parvati put on a show of confusion and defensiveness, while Tempest exchanged looks with Ron. As much as they disliked Trelawney, she was of Hogwarts in a way that Umbridge simply wasn't.

That evening, it turned out Umbridge had gone one further.

"No Quidditch practice," said Angelina in hollow tones when Tempest, Ron and Hermione entered the common room that night after dinner.

"That- _no!_ " exclaimed Tempest, "the Slytherin team got permission I heard- and I didn't say an off word to her-" she ran over every word she had said that day and nodded in confirmation, "what possible excuse could she have for not letting the team go on?"

"She just said she needed a bit of time to consider," said Angelina miserably.

"Consider what?" said Ron angrily. "The Slytherins have permission, why not us?"

Tempest knew quite well. Umbridge must be enjoying holding the threat of no Gryffindor Quidditch team over their heads.

The day had put her in a truly terrible mood, and Tempest sat by the fire as the twins held their rowdy demonstrations of their goods and collected gold amid the enthusiastic crowd that was gathered around them.

Three times George had tried to coax Tempest over to have a bit of fun, but the constant sound of retching and smell of sick even as Lee Jordan vanished it made Tempest feel quite ill and did nothing to improve her mood.

Her mood, which was…

Wretched.

Tempest sat stewing in her own thoughts until the twins had finally left the common room, along with Ron and Hermione, and she remained curled up on the sofa waiting.

Not a minute later, Sirius's head appeared in the flames, and he grinned at Tempest.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," Tempest said, moving to sit beside the fire. She hated how stilted her voice was now.

And Sirius seemed fine. He had smiled at Tempest like they had parted ways on the same page, uneventful and the same as ever.

"Starting illegal clubs now, are you?" said Sirius, oblivious to Tempest's thoughts, "I'm proud."

 _You would be proud,_ thought Tempest hatefully. _It's exactly the sort of thing my father would do._

"How did you know?" said Tempest instead. An equally pressing subject.

"Mundungus, of course," and when Tempest merely stared at him, he laughed. "He was the witch under the veil."

"Of course," repeated Tempest. She kicked herself. _He_ wouldn't have told Umbridge. That left the bandaged man and the two Yorkshire men. "What was he doing in the Hog's Head?"

"Keeping an eye on you, of course," said Sirius.

"Of course," said Tempest again. "That's still happening?"

"Unfortunately," said Sirius, "but," he added pointedly, "it's for your own good."

"Point," said Tempest. "That owl you sent by the way, I think someone in the Ministry, if not Umbridge herself, might've attacked him- he was in bad shape when he arrived."

"Fuck," said Sirius, "at least there wasn't anything that would mean anything to anyone else there, but if we're hurting owls because they're being intercepted…"

"We may have to stop," finished Tempest. "Fucking Ministry- well, Umbridge can't stop everything. We're going on with our DADA group, and we'll be using the Room of Requirement- its prefect really, or at least it will be. It's sort of its forte. Being perfect."

"Well everything seems to be going nicely," said Sirius, "although Molly did ask me to pass along the message to your friend Ron that he on no account whatsoever should take part in an illegal group, that he would be expelled and his future ruined. Of course, none of this in any way reflects _my_ views on the matter"

"Of course," said Tempest. "I'll let him know though."

"Great, so how've you been then?"

"I'm fine," caught in Tempest's throat before she could say anything. And then Sirius's face tensed, becoming alarmed. His head turned in the fire.

"No-"

But he had vanished. Tempest shot to her feet, staring into the fire.

A hand had appeared amongst the flames, groping as though to catch hold of something; a stubby, short-fingered hand covered in ugly, old-fashioned rings…

Tempest looked on in shock and revulsion as the hand grasped at the air just where Sirius's head had been. The stubby fingers, the fact that Umbridge had cut off what communication she could have with Sirius made Tempest's fists clench.

And as newly healed and tender skin pulled across the back of Tempest's right hand, she raised a foot and stamped down, hard on the flames where Umbridge's hand was. Her boots quickly dampened the fire, reducing it to ashes and glowing embers within seconds, then trailing smoke and ash, she stumbled backwards.

The hand was now gone, but so was Sirius.


	7. Apologies

**_Chapter Seven-_**

"So I couldn't even use your fire?"

"They are monitoring all the fires," confirmed Minnie, "Hogwarts as a whole is seen as aligned with Albus, and any hint of suspicious behavior would be heavily investigated."

"Damnit," scowled Tempest. "They can't do this! Fudge might have given her High Inquisitorial status or whatever, but snatching birds out of the sky to read mail, and specifically targeting us can't be allowed! She's in government!"

Minnie sighed.

They were sitting in Minnie's staff quarters, lunch laid out between them on a little table, the sandwiches and biscuits untouched. Minnie's cup of tea sat before her, while Tempest was holding her empty cup tightly in hand, brandishing it occasionally. Outside it had been a miserable day, with Tempest waking to a miserable drizzle that dripped down the windows of the girl's dorm in a truly despondent manner, and even now Tempest could hear the rain outside in a determined hail.

"That is precisely the point," said Minnie. "At the moment, she has the absolute discretion to interfere at Hogwarts, with the full support of the Minister. Your conversation with Sirius was ill advised-"

"I know, I know," sighed Tempest, setting her cap down with a clatter, "Merlin, I know. All of it was entirely my fault, I shouldn't have written him in the first place, none of the letters… I thought we were being so _clever_ though."

Minnie said nothing for a while, then; "take a sandwich Tempest."

Tempest took a cucumber sandwich and took a reluctant bite. Minnie stared off into space while Tempest chewed in silence.

"I've seen how…. how close you two have become," said Minnie eventually, "and that it must be difficult that you can't communicate as freely as anyone else might with someone they miss-"

Tempest sighed again.

"-but these are risks that could spell disaster," Minnie pressed on, "I am happy to carry messages between you when I can, but beyond that-"

"It's funny actually," said Tempest suddenly, "the reason he sent that letter for the firecall was _because_ I thought I was being careful. He wanted to come to Hogsmeade when we had that weekend, and I said no. We had a disagreement… and he wanted to check in, to talk anyway, and I was so glad…"

"Sirius Black is an adult," said Minnie. "It is about time he gained some sense of responsibility- no Tempest-" she said as Tempest opened her mouth to protest, "planning jaunts to Hogsmeade, using an unsecured floo channel, and risking both of your freedoms by openly writing to you… I wonder if it has occurred to the man that should it be proven that you are in contact with him, you would be sentenced for hiding a wanted criminal- these are not the acts of a responsible person."

Images of sunny days lounging in the parks flashed across Tempest's mind. The treks down the road to the phone booth. The day they had spent wandering around the city. They had been so _blatant._ And Tempest, more often than not, had been the one to suggest the outings. "It's my fault just as much as his for any of this."

Minnie ran a tired hand across her face and nudged at her plate absentmindedly. "And as much as you may protest the point, you are a child."

Tempest scowled. "It's hardly an excuse."

"It's a fact," said Minnie with a sort of finality. "You remain at Hogwarts, Tempest. Occupy yourself with something other than Sirius Black… your friends, preparing for your OWLS- any number of things. Distract yourself."

"Fine," said Tempest, casting her mind about. "How were your inspection results?"

Minnie made a disgusted sound and set down the pot of tea harder than was necessary. "My performance is _adequate,_ " she said in what might have been a mild tone, only her brogue thickened as it only did when she was particularly vexed.

"It's just the shit, isn't it?" said Tempest, to Minnie's disapproving ' _Tempest._ ' "The whole process is a pointless humiliation. Umbridge has her fingers everywhere. Everyone's doing their damn job, but she's sticking her nose in, and the damn Ministry is going after the wrong person! Sirius spent _twelve_ years in Azkaban, he's _innocent,_ and now he's on house arrest and can't even stick his head in a fire to escape- it's not right."

Minnie made a noise in her throat, but chose to raise her cup to her lips instead of speaking.

Tempest stared at the plate of biscuits on the table, and finally selected a sugar dusted one. She knew that Minnie disapproved of Sirius- of the drinking, the language, the recklessness…

Minnie changed the subject.

"How are your classes going?"

Tempest shoved the entire biscuit into her mouth, and behind her crunching, she muttered, "just fine."

Though Tempest had little against the rain, it did not improve her sprits, though a sense of vicious satisfaction did come over her as she sighted Umbridge at the staff table, one of her stumpy hands bruised and bandaged.

Umbridge's toady eyes roved the hall and settled on Tempest, who ducked back over her toast quickly. Even with her head turned, she could feel the heat of Umbridge's stare fixed upon her.

The feeling of being watched had persisted throughout her classes that day. Even in Charms, surrounded by the loud cawing and croaking of the animals they were meant to silence, Tempest felt like she was sinking.

Still, the wood of the chair did not give way beneath her, and Tempest swallowed back the ill feeling in her throat. The claustrophobic feeling that the walls of the castle were closing in around her persisted, and the weather seemed to mirror her emotions.

Rain hammered against the windows of the castle, and Tempest's scar had taken to prickling in unison with particularly loud claps of thunder as the evening wore on.

When the time for Quidditch training came around, Tempest and Ron stared resignedly through the doors of the castle at the sleeting rain. Eventually, they gritted their teeth and hurried out and down to the Quidditch pitch in the downpour. The pair of them were soaked through within minutes. Tempest's boots slipped and skidded on the sodden grass, and the sky was a dark grey.

Ron cursed as he almost fell down a muddy rivulet of water, and shook out his shoes in annoyance. He wiped the water from his eyes, scowling upwards. "Imagine trying to fly in this."

Tempest grunted in reply, and they continued on to where the changing rooms spilled light into the grey world beyond, promising warmth and dryness.

They finally tripped through the door, and Tempest crossed immediately over to her locker, dripping water everywhere and scraping damp hair away from her face. Over by their own lockers, Fred and George were debating whether to use one of their Snackboxes to get out of flying.

"-but I bet she'd know what we'd done," Fred said out of the corner of his mouth. "If only I hadn't offered to sell her some Puking Pastilles yesterday-"

"We could try the Fever Fudge," George muttered, "no one's seen that yet- hey, Tempest, you want in on this?"

Tempest finished pulling her Quidditch robes over her head and exchanged her usual gloves for her flying ones. She still had the handkerchief wrapped around her hand to prevent chafing, and she eased the molded leather over the silk. Her hand was mostly healed by now, but Tempest had kept the silk because, well… it was _nice._

Except recently, looking at it, Tempest could only feel guilty.

"Tempest?" prompted George.

"Sorry," said Tempest, "what?"

"We were wondering if you wanted in on getting out of practice," he said, "if you don't mind boils… unpleasant places."

Tempest stared at him for a moment longer before shaking her head and grabbing her Firebolt. Her hand flexed around the handle, and for the first time that day, she felt free of Umbridge. "I need to get my mind off some things," she said, "what's a bit of wet and suffering?"

She cracked a smile at George's "well the boils would do that," shouldered her broom, and followed Angelina out into the deepening mud and sheeting rain.

It was difficult to see; curtains of rain were sweeping the grounds, and light was fading fast. On Angelina's whistle, Tempest kicked off from the ground, spraying mud every which way, and shot upwards.

Wind howled around her, and it took every bit of strength that Tempest had to hold her broom in the same position. About her, dim figures were being battered about in the air, and Tempest flew above the pitch, face numb and broom handle slick beneath her fingertips. She had no idea what any of the others were doing, could not tell one airborne figure from another. The wind was picking up, and even at a distance, Tempest could hear the swishing, pounding sounds of the rain pummeling the surface of the lake.

Angelina kept them at it for nearly an hour before conceding defeat. She led her sodden and disgruntled team back into the changing rooms, insisting that the practice had not been a waste of time, though without any real conviction in her voice.

Tempest toweled her hair dry roughly, changing into dry clothes and stuffing her gear into her locker. She was shivering a fair amount and looked forward to a blazingly hot shower, but she was reluctant to return to the tower. Dreadful as the weather was, it had felt good to have an entire storm between her and the eyes in the castle.

"I'm not eager to head back either," said George, approaching over Tempest's shoulder and following her gaze through the dripping windowpane.

"No?"

"Well it's not been the best place to be recently, has it?" said George seriously.

Tempest looked over at him. The changes at Hogwarts had affected everyone, some more than others, and only added to the already existing mountain of troubles she had. George had always seemed above it all. Getting on with the joke shop, inventing, investing, experimenting… it was hard to find him without a smile on his face, and even now the shadow of one lingered at the corners of his mouth.

His acknowledgement came as a surprise even when it shouldn't have been, and the knowledge made her uncomfortable.

"We can't stay here all night," said Tempest. "May as well get on with it."

She shouldered her broom and waited as George went to grab his gear. Rain lashed against the window of the changing room, and Tempest gasped in pain.

It was like someone had taken a hot knife and laid it against her face. Tempest grasped frantically at her jaw, and found the skin unbroken but tender. Her scar had burnt hotter, more painfully than it had in months.

"You all right?"

George, bag and broom collected, looked at her concernedly.

"Yeah, fine," muttered Tempest, "Ready? Let's go." They made their way outside.

Even on the ground, the storm pushed against them, and Tempest pulled the hood of her cloak low over her face, hunching forwards as they made her way up the hill. As they walked, the wind turned the rain into sheets that battered against them on the hillside, and there was water soaked into her ears, muffling everything.

"So how've you been?" George called through the rain.

"You're asking _now_?"

"It's as good a time as any," replied George, "I hardly see you around these days."

That was hardly true- they saw each other plenty… although Tempest did acknowledge that they hadn't talked, not the way they used to, in ages.

"I've been…" awful. paranoid. frustrated. angry. in pain. _tired._ "fine."

" _Fine?_ " repeated George.

"Fine." confirmed Tempest.

The week wore on, and as per Minnie's instruction, Tempest attempted to distract herself. As far as distractions went, Hermione's DADA idea wasn't a terrible one. Much as Tempest dreaded the thought of teaching, it was a far worthier cause than _preparing for OWLS._

She now perched on a low table with one of Sirius's defense books open in her lap in the room of Requirement, waiting for the others to arrive. Ron and Hermione were with her, poking around the hall; Hermione was poring over the walls of bookcases that had appeared for her, while Ron was testing the bounce to the array of cushions that were laid out on the floor.

It was a decent set up, and Tempest was beginning to see strings of how she might go about starting these meetings. There was a great floor space for tossing people about, and mirrors arranged around the room for viewing ease. Near the back of the room there was a table with various dark detectors on it for what Tempest assumed might be demonstrations.

Slowly people began to arrive, trickling in through the doors in twos or threes, until eight o'clock, and all the cushions were occupied with quietly talking students looking about curiously. When everyone seemed somewhat settled, and Tempest was sure they weren't missing anyone, she slid off the table, walked to the door and locked it with a satisfying _clunk._

Everyone looked at her.

"Right, hey," she said, shoving her hands deep into her pockets. Over where Hermione was, she had set her book aside as well, and all were looking at her expectantly. "So… great, you've all made it… This is the Room of Requirement, by the way… for those who aren't familiar-"

A few people murmured their appreciation, still looking around, while Fred nudged George, who nodded empathetically.

"It's bizarre- we once hid from Flinch in here, remember, George? But it was just a broom cupboard then…"

"Yeah, it's a good place to know about-," said Tempest, feeling like it was a gross understatement.

"Hey- Tempest, what's this stuff?" asked Dean from the rear of the room, motioning at the table full of dark detectors.

"Dark detectors," affirmed Tempest, "they're meant to show you when enemies are around, but don't rely on them too much, they're not exactly always accurate-"

She stared for a moment into the Foe-Glass. Wavering outlines moved too and fro within it, though none were recognizable. She turned her back on it.

"So… we're all here for a bit of DADA practice- and, er-" Tempest noticed a raised hand. "Hermione?"

Hermione put down her hand, sitting up straighter. "I think we ought to elect a leader," she said.

"Tempest's leader," said George lazily, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Yes, but I think we ought to vote on it properly," said Hermione fussily. "It makes it formal and it gives her authority. So- everyone who thinks Tempest should be our leader?"

Everybody put up their hand.

"Right," coughed Tempest, "Cheers. Well- _yes,_ Hermione?"

"I also think we ought to have a name," she said brightly, her hand still in the air. "It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don't you think?"

"Really?" asked Tempest, "I thought we were going around just calling it _The_ _Group_."

"Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League?" said Angelina hopefully.

"Or the Ministry of Magic Are Morons Group?" suggested Fred, grinning at her.

"A bit long-" said Tempest as Hermione frowned.

"I was thinking," she said pointedly, "more of a name that didn't tell everyone what we were up to, so we can refer to it safely outside meetings."

"The Defense Association?" said Ginny. "DA for short, so nobody knows what we're talking about?" There was a hum of agreement from around the room, and no one raised any complaints. "Actually, let's make it stand for Dumbledore's Army," Ginny corrected herself, "that's the Ministry's worst fear, isn't it?" There was a good deal of appreciative murmuring and laughter at this.

"All in favor of the DA?" said Hermione bossily, kneeling up on her cushion to count. "That's a majority- motion passed!"

She pinned the piece of paper with all of their names on it on the wall and wrote DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY across the top in large letters.

"Great," said Tempest, when she had sat down again. "In the spirit of sticking it to Umbridge, let's get to practicing… I made a list of things we should do-" here she dug into her pockets searching, and finally withdrew a crumpled bit of parchment. She squinted at it.

At Hermione's urging, she had done some prep work for their practice today, and Tempest had tried to think back over her process when she was first practicing offensive and defensive spells. What had worked, what might be useful… and somewhere along her process, she had found herself replicating a lot of what she had spent time with Malfoy practicing before the third task.

It had been _fun._

"Right," said Tempest. "I was going to start us off with shield charms, but actually in my experience, they put you on the back foot immediately, so I'm going to say we'll begin with the disarming charm- _Expelliarmus-_ it's basic, but then we can work our way up-"

"Oh _please,_ " said Zacharias Smith, rolling his eyes and folding his arms. "I don't think _Expelliarmus_ is exactly going to help us against You-Know-Who, do you?"

Tempest drew her wand. The next moment, she was holding two.

"So tell me," she said, shoving her own wand back into its holster, "what exactly _are_ you planning to do now?"

Smith opened his mouth, then closed it again.

A few people laughed, and trying to not look a prat, Tempest decided not to join in. "Seriously- what _are_ you going to do? Have a bit of a brawl?" Smith's face became mulish. "If you're thinking about a Death Eater, most of them are pureblood supremacists, so they wouldn't think of sinking so low. You're free after to cast any number of more- well, according to you- effective spells. Stunners and the like." Tempest flipped the wand and threw it back to Smith. "So… are we done with this?"

It seemed so.

"Then divide into pairs and practice."

It was strange to be issuing instructions, but rather gratifying to see them being followed instantly. George arched an eyebrow at Tempest and she gave a quick nod.

"Everyone have a partner? Right, on the count of three… One, two, three-"

George's spell flew towards her, and Tempest easily deflected it, the flaw in her plan becoming obvious immediately. After two more thwarted attempts, George sighed patiently, "Tempest, you know you're _meant_ to let me hit you, right?"

Tempest hid her grimace behind a laugh. "Sorry, force of habit- go again."

It took every ounce of her self-control to remain still as George pointed his wand at her. Her mind rebelled at the notion of _allowing_ herself to be hit by the spell- and the feeling persisted as her hand was wrenched open, and her wand sailed through the air to George.

George swore when Tempest's wand hit his hand, and he tossed it back immediately, rubbing his reddened fingers and palm. "I forgot your wand did that," he complained, "how'd you get it to be so loyal? When Fred steals my wand, it doesn't make a peep."

Tempest shrugged, hiding the fact that she felt rather releived, "dunno, it's always been like that… At any rate, that was very good-" she looked around the room to see how the others were doing, and winced. "Far above the rest- er, Merlin, this is a mess isn't it?"

Stray spells were flying about the room: Ginny was paired up with Michael Corner, and even though it was clear she was more than a match for him, he was either grossly incompetent, or unwilling to jinx her. The Creevey brothers were enthusiastic, but erratic, and the reason why most of the others had to duck at random moments, just to avoid being hit by countless flying books. Luna was patchy, occasionally sending Justin Finch-Fletchley's wand spinning out of his hand, other times merely making his hair stand on end.

"I'll go walk around, er, do some of this teachering-" said Tempest, "why don't you go assist Fred? He seems to be having a blast."

Not far away, Fred was casually jinxing Smith every time he tried to disarm his own partner. Smith was quickly losing his cool as his wand treated his hand as a disease, leaping away at every chance it got. George looked delighted to get in on the fun, and bounded over to his twin.

Tempest kept her wand out to deflect flying objects as she navigated her way around the room. Ernie Macmillan was flourishing his wand unnecessarily, giving his partner time to get in under his guard, and Tempest headed over to him. He paused, mid wave, and Tempest eyed his form critically.

"You may be a wizard, but you're not a magician, you're going to put someone's eye out- smaller motions work just as well. Apart from that, you're doing good."

She moved off.

"Corner- Ginny's not made of glass, doing your worst isn't helping anyone. Ginny, good work."

Cho seemed to be doing well against her friend- Marietta- Tempest recalled, though her friend was rather inconsistent and her spell casting lackluster. "I know we're practicing, but in real life, no one's going to hang around waiting for you to curse them- put a bit more speed into your motions."

Tempest moved off around the room again, stopping at every pair. Neville seemed to be having a bit of trouble getting even the smallest reaction from his partner's wand.

"Hey, Neville, stop-" said Tempest. "Here, adjust your grip on your wand-" she demonstrated, checking to ensure he had copied her motions. "Now go on. I know you've got potential, I've seen you cast spells before. What you need is _confidence._ It's not all about technique." She moved aside, nodding at Neville. "You have to _believe_ you can do it- go on, try again."

Katie Bell's wand didn't fly out of her hand, but it did jerk forwards violently, yanking her with it.

"Well done," said Tempest, "now keep practicing."

Slowly, the general performance about the room improved, and Tempest moved on to shield charms. They didn't get too far with them- most were easily shattered with an _Expelliarmus,_ and their reflexes left much to be desired. Even when looking directly at their opponent, able to see the motion of their wand and the spell _as it shot toward them,_ reaction times were painfully slow. Tempest found herself itching with the need to seize everyone's wands and _force_ proficiency into each of them.

Still, it was heartening progress, and the others seemed to have found the time worthwhile as well, as when she called the time and suggested they wrap up, there were groans of disappointment.

"Glad you liked it folks, but unless we fancy detention, we should all head off," said Tempest, above the noise. She looked to Hermione. "Er, our next meeting should be…"

"As soon as possible!" said Dean eagerly, and many people nodded in agreement.

"There's Quidditch," said Tempest before Angelina could.

"Next week at the same time should work," piped up Hermione, who was consulting a piece of parchment that likely had all their schedules on.

"Good-o." said Tempest, "Let's leave it at that, and we'll decide on additional meetings later. Now c'mon, do you really want to get caught by Filch?"

She let the room out in threes and fours with an eye on the Marauders Map, ensuring Filch and any other undesirables remained far from the routes that they took back to their dormitories.

"That was really, really good, Tempest," said Hermione, when it was just her, Tempest and Ron left.

"Yeah, it was!" said Ron enthusiastically, as they slipped out of the door and watched it melt back into stone behind them. "Did you see me disarm Hermione, Tempest?"

"Only once," said Hermione, stung. "I got you loads more than you got me-"

"I did not only get you once, I got you at least three times-"

"Well, if you're counting the one where you tripped over your own feet and knocked the wand out of my hand-"

"It counts," grinned Tempest, shrugging over at Hermione, "you were disarmed, weren't you?"

Hermione harrumphed. "You had a good time too, didn't you?"

"Ordering folks about," added Ron, nudging Tempest.

Tempest sighed. "All right, it wasn't half bad," she conceded, "I suppose we'll see how things go… there's a lot of work to be done."

There was a lot of work to be done. But the DA seemed willing to put in the effort, and Tempest wasn't hauling dead weight. Her fears of the DA merely being treated as a fancy and a place to mock her sincerity had not come true. Week after week, meeting after meeting, no matter how muddled the scheduling became, whenever she sent out notice for a meeting, all the DA came.

Each time they improved, and Tempest could see the effort they put in. It was easier to face Umbridge and restrain herself, when she knew that she and the DA were doing the very thing the Ministry most feared, under her very nose.

She thought about how Neville had successfully disarmed Hermione, how Colin Creevey, who was apt to be blown backwards by the force of his own wand, now held his ground, how Ron had gotten so good at Reductor curses, half the room had to stand back when it was his turn at the dummies.

It wasn't possible to fix a regular night of the week for DA meetings, as they had to accommodate three separate Quidditch teams' practices, which were often rearranged depending on the weather conditions, and any number of other club meetings. Tempest wasn't too fussed about it- keeping their meeting times unpredictable meant anyone suspicious wouldn't be able to find a pattern.

Hermione soon devised a clever method of communicating the time and date of the next meeting to all the members in case they needed to change it at short notice, because it would look so suspicious if people from different Houses were seen crossing the Great Hall to talk to each other too often. She gave each of the members of the DA a fake Galleon (Ron became very excited when he saw the basket at first, convinced that she was actually giving out gold).

"You see the numerals around the edge of the coins?" Hermione said, holding one up for examination at the end of their fourth meeting. The coin gleamed fat and yellow in the light from the torches. "On real Galleons that's just a serial number referring to the goblin that cast the coin. On these fake coins, though, the numbers will change to reflect the time and date of the next meeting. The coins will grow hot when the date changes, so if you're carrying them in a pocket you'll be able to feel them. We take one each, and when Tempest sets the date of the next meeting she'll change the numbers on _her_ coin, and because I've put a Protean Charm on them, they'll all change to mimic hers."

A blank silence greeted Hermione's words. She looked around at all the faces upturned to her, rather disconcerted.

"Well- I thought it was a good idea," she said uncertainly, "I mean, even if Umbridge asked us to turn out our pockets, there's nothing fishy about carrying a Galleon, is there? But... well, if you don't want to use them..."

"You can do a Protean Charm?" said Terry Boot.

"Yes," said Hermione.

"But that's... that's NEWT standard, that is," he said weakly.

"Oh," said Hermione, trying to look modest. "Oh... well... yes, I suppose it is..."

Tempest hid a grin by ducking her head to more closely inspect her coin.

"How come you're not in Ravenclaw?" Boot demanded, staring at Hermione with something close to wonder. "With brains like yours?"

"Well, the Sorting Hat did seriously consider putting me in Ravenclaw during my Sorting," said Hermione brightly, "but it decided on Gryffindor in the end. So does that mean we're using the Galleons?"

There was a murmur of assent and everybody moved forward to collect one from the basket.

Tempest clapped Hermione on the back. "You out do us, mate. I suppose the only danger is remembering not to spend them."

"Fat chance," said Ron, who was examining his own fake Galleon with a slightly mournful air. "I haven't got any real Galleons to confuse it with."

"Safer than us all," declared Tempest, "now come on, we should get going. It's late, and we've Quidditch practice tomorrow."

As the first Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin,drew nearer, the DA meetings were put on hold because Angelina insisted on almost daily practices.

The fact that the Quidditch Cup had not been held for so long added considerably to the interest and excitement surrounding the forthcoming game. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were taking a lively interest in the outcome, for they, of course, would be playing both teams over the coming year; and the Heads of House of the competing teams, though they attempted to disguise it under a decent pretense of sportsmanship, were determined to see their side's victory.

Tempest, who had lived with Minnie for four years, was less surprised when she abstained from giving them homework in the week leading up to the match. There was putting on a sporting face, then there was being realistic.

"I think you've got enough to be getting on with at the moment," said Minnie loftily. She looked at Tempest grimly. "I've become accustomed to seeing the Quidditch Cup in my study, and I really don't want to have to hand it over to Professor Snape, so use the extra time to practise, won't you?"

Tempest saluted her.

Snape was no less obviously partisan: He had booked the Quidditch pitch for Slytherin practice so often that the Gryffindors had difficulty getting on it to play. He was also turning a deaf ear to the many reports of Slytherin attempts to hex Gryffindor players in the corridors. When Alicia Spinnet turned up in the hospital wing with her eyebrows growing so thick and fast that they obscured her vision and obstructed her mouth, Snape insisted that she must have attempted a Hair-Thickening Charm on herself and refused to listen to the fourteen eyewitnesses who insisted that they had seen the Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley, hit her from behind with a jinx while she worked in the library.

Tempest felt optimistic about Gryffindor's chances; they had, after all, never lost to Slytherin. Though Ron was not Wood, he arrived early at practices with a steely determination. He was working extremely hard to improve, and as hard as Tempest was trying to drag him out of it, his greatest weakness was a tendency to lose confidence after he'd made a blunder; if he let in one goal he became flustered and was therefore likely to miss more.

He was also allowing the Slytherin team to get to him. After four years, Tempest was accustomed to the scare tactics and taunting that came in the hallways and during classes, so whispers of , "Hey, Potty, I heard Warrington's sworn to knock you off your broom on Saturday," far from chilling her blood, made her laugh. Loudly. "Warrington?" she chuckled, "Warrington, who's never hit anything smaller than the side of a building?" It made Ron and Hermione laugh, and wiped the smirk of Parkinson's face.

But Ron had never known constant abuse like this before. When Slytherins, some of them seventh years and considerably larger than he was, muttered as they passed in the corridors, "Got your bed booked in the hospital wing, Weasley?" he did not laugh, but turned a delicate shade of green.

October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy drafts that bit at exposed hands and faces. The skies and the ceiling of the Great Hall turned a pale, pearly gray, the mountains around Hogwarts became snowcapped, and the temperature in the castle dropped so far that many students wore their thick protective dragon skin gloves in the corridors between lessons.

Two days before the day of the match, the second full moon of the semester rolled around. Tempest, though she had desperately wanted to speak to Sirius properly, found herself too haggard to manage anything meaningful, especially after the hours they spent rushing about the woods. As she was leaving, Sirius had laid a chilly hand atop where one of hers was numbly gripping the handle of the motorbike. He had probably said something heartening, only Tempest had been so tired she hardly heard him.

The moment haunted her in the following days. She found herself replaying their interaction over and over again, watching the movement of his mouth, recalling how the night air had turned his cheeks pale and nose pink, feeling the hum of the motorcycle through her legs, and unable to hear the words from his mouth.

She melted her stirring rod in Potions, and sat dumbly as Snape relished in the opportunity to berate her. She caused her desk to sing Italian vowels instead of reciting the English alphabet in Charms, and in Transfiguration, no matter how hard she tried, her sparrow refused to transform into a dove, and insisted upon strutting about as a pigeon. All the while, Tempest wondered what Sirius had said.

The constant late night Quidditch practices, schoolwork, worry for Ron and stress for Sirius was so consuming, that it was difficult not to think that a break from it all would be deserved.

It was why when Malfoy imitated Ron dropping the Quaffle in one of his intimidation attempts, and Ron's ears glowed red, dropping the stack of Runes books he was carrying for Hermione, Tempest couldn't think of a cutting remark to tell him shove off. When she blinked, Malfoy was already on his way, and Tempest quickly stooped to help Ron with his books.

"Don't let him get to you," said Tempest, for what seemed like the umpteenth time in the past weeks.

Ron hugged the recovered books tighter to his chest. "Mate, they already have."

He set off before her, and Tempest was left to stare after him, feeling quite deflated.

Tempest sat in bed that night, a pile of folded letters stacked neatly before her. Some were tucked into envelopes, others only bits of loose paper and parchment. Some of the letters were double sided, a reply written on the reverse of the original message. Some of the messages weren't even on paper, but in the empty spaces of a newspaper page, or in one case, the back of a takeaway menu. The one constant was the handwriting on each of them.

It was through this pile that Tempest was sifting, the elastic band around her wrist, and dating the letters in her mind as she went through. She had reached one she was having difficulty placing, when a prickle at the back of her head warned her of someone approaching. She snapped the elastic off her wrist and seized her pillow as a cover. As soon as everything was out of sight, Tempest dropped the wards surrounding her bed.

The drapes around her bed were pulled back, and Hermione's head peered through.

"Can I join you?"

Tempest tucked her feet back from the end of the bed and motioned with her hand. "Sure. Nyx isn't in tonight, so feel free."

Hermione clambered on, drawing the drapes back and sat opposite Tempest. Her hair was mussed from her pillow, but her eyes were still clear and alert.

"You alright?" asked Tempest.

" _I'm_ fine," said Hermione. "I was worrying about you."

"What? What have I done?" said Tempest, somewhat stupidly.

Hermione frowned. "It's what you haven't done rather. We haven't had a real conversation for ages. I saw the light from your bed and I thought I'd try to have one."

"We've had conversations," protested Tempest, "We're together almost all the time. We're in mostly the same classes, and we see each other a lot out of them-"

"When was the last time we had one then? And I don't mean a joke in a corridor or talking about classwork, I mean a proper conversation."

Tempest opened her mouth to provide her evidence, sat for a while, then frowned. "So we've both been busy with school stuff-"

"You're distracted in class, I've noticed you're not eating much either."

"I'm protesting the lack of rights house elves have." Hermione gave Tempest a stern look. Tempest folded. "Alright, so I'm not as hungry as usual- look, I'm tired, that's all."

"You're tired," repeated Hermione doubtfully. "That's why you're up at-" she checked the time on Tempest's dresser quickly, and returned, "eleven forty, the night before your match? The match that everyone's so excited about?"

"I'm allowed to be contradictory."

"And I'm allowed to be worried. Tempest, I know you've got a lot on your plate, but you _can_ talk to me about it."

 _I wouldn't know what to say._

Hermione reached over toward the pillow between them, and made it lift it. Tempest made an aborted convulsive movement, and Hermione shifted the pillow away. There was a silence as she looked down at the letters, her eyes scanning through the addresses, and Tempest had to fight the childish urge to seize them all and hide them away again.

Finally, Hermione looked back up at her. "Oh Tempest."

Tempest wondered what it looked like to a normal, well-adjusted person like Hermione. Staying up late, hours of the day and night spent mooning after her godfather. Pathetic, certainly. Obsessive, without a doubt.

"He's all I've got, Hermione," said Tempest.

"You've got me."

Hermione said the words so easily, like breathing. Like she didn't know how much Tempest loved her. Like it wasn't something in which Tempest had always unerringly been let down. Because Hermione had her parents, and Ron had his parents, five brothers and a sister, and batty great aunts and grandparents, and Tempest knew, not resentfully, but resignedly, that she would always be second at best.

"And I can't tell you how much that means to me," said Tempest. "But you've got your own family. It wouldn't be possible to hold it against any of you- it's ridiculous to even think that way, but that's how it is, and I'm not stupid enough to think any different."

"I… I don't know what to say," said Hermione quietly. "I… I do, love my family, but Tempest, we're not perfect either."

"That's not what I meant-"

"No, but what I'm trying to say, is that maybe what you… think what I have, or Ron, or someone else with… with their family, isn't what you think it is. I don't always get along with my parents. They fight, they fought about my coming here, about their jobs, about finances, sometimes in the middle of the night, when they think I'm sleeping."

Tempest felt smaller suddenly. She reached over, as though to take Hermione's hand, only to have it fall between them awkwardly. "You never mentioned it before."

"I thought I hadn't much right to," confessed Hermione. "It seemed insensitive."

"It isn't," said Tempest, feeling worse, an impressive feat, as she had already been wallowing before Hermione had spoken. "It wouldn't be- your problems are just as important to you as any are to anybody else. I… I don't always do it very well at it, but it doesn't end well when you start comparing pain. I'd never want you to feel like you couldn't share."

"Thanks," said Hermione quietly. "But please don't feel sorry for me. I don't think I could bear it if you were. I'm not the point. You can't think that we love you any less- look at Ron and Percy."

Guilt hit Tempest hard and fast.

"I _never_ wanted that to happen. I would never want that."

"I know Tempest," reassured Hermione, "the point is that it isn't healthy looking at Sirius like this, because… well, you haven't known him long, and what you're looking for might not even exist."

Tempest blinked, and then she began tidying away the letters, stacking them neatly and snapping the elastic back on. "Nothing about my life up till this point that actually made me _happy_ was advisable," she said slowly. "None of it was initially a good idea… maybe I'm not being realistic, but Hermione… to hell with the rest of it… I'm not going to be."

Hermione looked down at the bedspread.

"Thank you, for worrying," said Tempest. "But, please don't."

"How could I not?"

"Because…" and here the feeling that had been flitting at the back of Tempest's mind ever since Hermione had looked down at Sirius's letters, something so unspeakably _private_ , reared again, and in full force. "Because it's really none of your business, Hermione."

Hermione looked briefly hurt. "As your friend, I'm bound to worry."

"And he's my family," said Tempest with finality.

The morning of the match dawned bright and cold. Tempest woke early, but lay in bed for a few hours more. She had not slept well, but was unable to fall back into those elusive clutches. She regretted being so short with Hermione, Hermione, who had only meant well.

It wasn't a good feeling, and it only added to irritation when she entered the Great Hall to the raucous sound of other students in a high mood. As she passed the Slytherin table there was an upsurge of noise. She looked round and saw that, in addition to the usual green and silver scarves and hats, every one of them was wearing a silver badge in the shape of what seemed to be a crown.

Ron's arrival in the hall was met with great cheering and applause by the Slytherins. Ron's reaction was instantaneous: he went bone white.

"Ignore them," said Tempest, pushing him onward to the Gryffindor table. There they received a more reassuring rousing welcome, but far from raising Ron's spirits, the last of his morale seemed to seep from him, and he collapsed on to the nearest bench looking as though he were facing his last meal.

"I must've been mental to do this," he said in a croaky whisper. "Mental."

"We all are a bit," said Tempest, clapping him on the back. "Don't worry so much. You'll be fine."

"I'm rubbish," croaked Ron. "I'm lousy. I can't play to save my life. What was I thinking?"

"Nonsense," said Tempest. "You can play a jolly good game if you keep your head in it."

Ron pulled a bowl toward him and began shaking cereal into it half-heartedly.

Hermione and Ginny sat down opposite them. Hermione was wearing red and gold scarves, gloves and rosettes, and met Tempest's eyes before ducking down over her plate.

"How're you feeling?" Ginny asked Ron, who was now staring into the dregs of milk at the bottom of his empty cereal bowl as though seriously considering attempting to drown himself in them.

Ron made a noise like a dying cow.

"Well, that's a good sign, I never feel you perform as well in exams if you're not a bit nervous," said Hermione heartily, obviously trying and failing to make the best of a bad situation.

"Hello," said a vague and dreamy voice from behind them. Tempest looked up: Luna had drifted over from the Ravenclaw table. Many people were staring at her and a few were openly laughing and pointing; she had managed to procure a hat shaped like a life-size lion's head, which was perched precariously on her head.

"I'm supporting Gryffindor," said Luna, pointing unnecessarily at her hat. "Look what it does…" She reached up and tapped the hat with her wand. It opened its mouth wide and gave an extremely realistic roar that made everyone in the vicinity jump. "It's good, isn't it?" said Luna happily. "I wanted to have it chewing up a serpent to represent Slytherin, you know, but there wasn't time. Anyway… good luck, Ronald!"

She drifted away. They had not quite recovered from the shock of Luna's hat before Angelina came hurrying towards them, accompanied by Katie. "When you're ready," she said, "we're going to go straight down to the pitch, check out conditions and change."

"Yeah," said Tempest, setting her toast aside and draining the last of her tea. "Ron, you done?"

Ron nodded slowly and they rose from the table. On a whim, Tempest turned to Hermione, who had risen with them. They exchanged a long look, and Hermione spoke. "Don't let Ron see what's on those Slytherins' badges," she whispered.

Tempest nodded tightly. Ron ambled over to them, looking lost and desperate.

"Good luck, Ron," said Hermione, standing on tiptoe and kissing him on the cheek. "And you, Tempest-"

Ron seemed to come to himself slightly as they walked back across the Great Hall. He touched the spot on his face where Hermione had kissed him, looking puzzled, as though he was not quite sure what had just happened. He seemed too distracted to notice much around him, but Tempest cast a curious glance at the crown-shaped badges as they passed the Slytherin table, making out the words etched on to them:

 _Weasley is our King_

Still confused, but now with an unpleasant feeling sitting in the pit of Tempest's stomach, she hurried Ron through the Entrance Hall, down the stone steps and out into the icy air.

The frosty grass crunched under their feet as they hurried down the sloping lawns towards the stadium. There was no wind at all and the sky was a uniform pearly white, which meant that visibility would be good without the drawback of direct sunlight in the eyes.

Angelina had changed already and was talking to the rest of the team when they entered. Tempest and Ron pulled on their robes (Ron attempted to do his up back-to-front for several minutes before Tempest went to help), then sat down to listen to the pre-match talk while the babble of voices outside grew steadily louder as the crowd came pouring out of the castle towards the pitch.

"Ok, I've only just found out the final line-up for Slytherin," said Angelina, consulting a piece of parchment. "Last year's Beaters, Derrick and Bole, have left, but it looks as though Montague's replaced them with the usual gorillas, rather than anyone who can fly particularly well. They're two blokes called Crabbe and Goyle, I don't know much about them-"

"They're idiots," filled in Tempest. Up until now, she had not known that the pair could even lift a foot off the ground, much less play a full game.

"Well that's a relief. They didn't look bright enough to tell one end of a broom from the other anyway," said Angelina, pocketing her parchment, "but then I was always surprised Derrick and Bole managed to find their way on to the pitch without signposts."

"Crabbe and Goyle are from the same mould," Tempest assured her.

She slid away from Ron and over to George when Angelina began running through the feints with the chasers. "Any ideas on what the Slytherin badges are on about?"

"Nothing to do me or Fred," said George in a low voice. "Think it's got anything to do with Ron playing?"

Tempest groaned. "Probably. He's going to lose his head."

"And there are only so many threats we can make in reverse," said George.

Tempest tightened her grip on her Firebolt and clasped George's arm in reassurance.

"It's time," said Angelina in a hushed voice, looking at her watch. "C'mon everyone... good luck."

The rest of the team shouldered their brooms and marched in single file out of the changing room and into the dazzling sunlight. A roar of sound greeted them in which Tempest could hear singing, though the cheers and whistles muffled it.

The Slytherin team was standing waiting for them. They, too, were wearing those silver crown-shaped badges. The new captain, Montague, was massively built, with immense forearm like hairy hams. Behind him lurked Crabbe and Goyle, almost as large, blinking stupidly in the sunlight, swinging their new Beaters' bats.

Malfoy was to the side, his blond head shining under the sun, handle of his broom gleaming from a fresh wax. He was looking at Ron, a smirk on his face.

"Captains, shake hands," ordered Madam Hooch, as Angelina and Montague reached each other. "Mount your brooms…"

Madam Hooch placed her whistle in her mouth and blew.

The balls were released and the fourteen players shot upwards. Tempest saw Ron shoot off towards the goal hoops, while Tempest streaked upwards, dodging a Bludger and setting off on a wide lap of the pitch, eyes scanning for a glint of gold. Her path unintentionally mirrored that of Malfoy's on the other side of the pitch.

"And it's Johnson, Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I've been saying it for years but she still won't go out with me-"

"JORDAN!" yelled Minnie.

"Just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest- and she's ducked Warrington, she's passed Montague, she's- ouch- been hit from behind by a Bludger from Crabbe... Montague catches the Quaffle, Montague heading back up the pitch and- nice Bludger there from George Weasley, that's a Bludger to the head for Montague, he drops the Quaffle, caught by Katie Bell, Katie Bell of Gryffindor reverse passes to Alicia Spinnet and Spinnet's away-"

Lee Jordan's commentary rang through the stadium and Tempest listened as much as she could through the wind whistling in her ears and the din of the crowd, all yelling and booing and singing- She wheeled around in the air and came to a stop as the first of the words rose up to her.

 _"Weasley cannot save a thing,_

 _He cannot block a single ring,_

 _That's why Slytherins all sing:_

 _Weasley is our King._

 _Weasley was born in a bin_

 _He always lets the Quaffle in_

 _Weasley will make sure we win_

 _Weasley is our King."_

"-and Alicia passes back to Angelina!" Lee shouted, trying to drown out the sound of the singing. Tempest continued her search for the Snitch, though her blood was boiling. "Come on now, Angelina- looks like she's got just the Keeper to beat! -SHE SHOOTS- SHE- aaaah..."

Bletchley, the Slytherin Keeper, had saved the goal; he threw the Quaffle to Warrington who sped off with it, zigzagging in between Alicia and Katie; the singing from below grew louder and louder as he drew nearer and nearer Ron-

 _Weasley is our King,_

 _Weasley is our King,_

 _He always lets the Quaffle in,_

 _Weasley is our King._

Tempest abandoned the search for the Snitch and turned in the air to face Ron, a lone figure at the far end of the pitch, hovering before the three goal hoops while the massive Warrington pelted towards him. Tempest cut out Jordan's commentary as the Slytherins' song filled her ears.

 _"Weasley cannot save a thing,_

 _He cannot block a single ring…"_

She swore violently. Ron had dived wildly, his arms wide, and the Quaffle had soared between them straight through Ron's central hoop.

The Slytherins sang even louder:

 _"WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN_

 _HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN…"_

Tempest accelerated again in Ron's direction, looping the goal hoops and as soon as she was within earshot, she yelled: "Shake it off Ron! There's the whole rest of the game!" She saw Ron's knuckle-white grip on the handle of his broom and the nervous bob of his adam's apple as he swallowed hard.

 _"WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN_

 _WEASLEY IS OUR KING,_

 _WEASLEY IS OUR KING,_

 _WEASLEY IS OUR KING…"_

Tempest had no more time to dwell, the game wasn't stopping, and she hadn't the faintest idea where the Snitch was. She circled the stadium, and passed Malfoy, singing loudly,

" _WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN…"_

"Shut your fucking mouth, Malfoy!" roared Tempest as they passed. Over on the other end of the pitch, the Slytherin Keeper, Bletchley was singing along with the crowd below, and Tempest wished for a moment she had been a beater.

" _WEASLEY CANNOT SAVE A THING…_ "

"-and it's Warrington again," bellowed Jordan, "who passes to Pucey, Pucey's off past Spinnet, come on now, Angelina, you can take him- turns out you can't- but nice Bludger from Fred Weasley I mean, George Weasley, oh, who cares, one of them, anyway, and Warrington drops the Quaffle and Katie Bell- er- drops it, too- so that's Montague with the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Montague takes the Quaffle and he's off up the pitch, come on now, Gryffindor, block him! Pucey's dodged Alicia again and he's heading straight for goal, stop it, Ron!"

Tempest yanked her broom around so hard, her brain felt like it had temporarily dislodged itself, but it was worth it as she managed to see Ron shoot forwards, and the Quaffle was sent spinning away from the hoops, to the loud cheers of the Gryffindor stands. It was by no means a spectacular save, nor one that would ever come close to winning any awards for style or grace, but he had saved the goal.

"Bloody brilliant, Ron!" shouted George as he flew by the Gryffindor goal hoops.

"Yes!" yelled Tempest as a close second. Flying by Ron, they managed to execute a shoddy fistbump, and then she was off again, listening to Lee Jordan's commentary, boldened by Ron's triumph.

"-and Katie Bell of Gryffindor catches the Quaffle, dodges Pucey, ducks Montague, nice swerve, Katie, and she throws to Johnson, Angelina Johnson takes the Quaffle, she's past Warrington, she's heading for goal, come on now, Angelina- GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It's ten-ten, ten-ten tied and Pucey has the Quaffle…"

Something in Tempest's chest eased as she shot upwards, scanning the skies and ground alternately for gold. It was tied and Ron seemed to coping. The Slytherin singing wasn't abating, but Tempest could ignore it if Ron could.

"-Pucey throws to Warrington, Warrington to Montague, Montague back to Pucey- Johnson intervenes, Johnson takes the Quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good- I mean bad- Bell's hit by a Bludger from Goyle of Slytherin and it's Pucey in possession again…"

But then Ron let in two more goals, and there was a look on Ron's face when the singing increased in volume that made Tempest cast her eyes about the pitch with increased urgency. If she could just get the Snitch, then Gryffindor would have won, and she could get Ron away from the pitch, away from that _fucking_ singing.

 _"WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN,_

 _HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN,_

 _WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN…"_

"Hey, Potter!" called Malfoy, hovering about fifty meters from where she was, "how long do you bet it'll be before Weasley starts crying?"

Then she saw it; hovering feet from the ground at the Slytherin end of the pitch. She didn't hear anything else Malfoy said, already shooting past him and down towards the ground.

He was after her in seconds, a green and silver blur lying flat on his broom…

The Snitch skirted the foot of one of the goalhoops and scooted off towards the other side of the stands; its change of direction suited Malfoy, who was nearer; Tempest had lost what ground she had on Malfoy, and they were now neck and neck…

The ground was rushing by beneath her; Tempest's right hand let go of her broom, stretching forwards, a reflection of Malfoy inches from her, both reaching, groping in the air… It was over in two breathless, desperate, windswept seconds- Tempest's hand closed around the Snitch, the tiny wings fluttering against her palm; Malfoy's fingers clutched desperately at the back of her hand.

Tempest whooped in triumph, yanking her broom upwards, away from Malfoy. She raised her arm; the struggling ball clutched tightly in her hand and Gryffindor spectators screamed their approval… She was laughing, head thrown back and face flush with adrenaline. It was all fine, it didn't matter that Ron had let in some goals, Gryffindor had won-

WHAM.

Tempest's vision whited out for a second as a Bludger hit her squarely in the back and she flew forwards off her broom. She had only been ten or so feet off the ground, so she landed winded but fine, flat on her front on the frozen pitch. She heard Madam Hooch's shrill whistle, uproar in the stands compounded of catcalls, angry yells and jeering, a thud, then Angelina's frantic voice.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah," said Tempest shortly, taking her hand and allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. Madam Hooch was zooming towards one of the Slytherin players above her, though she could not see who it was from this angle. Malfoy was still in the air, slowly descending- from where she stood, she could see he was staring in her direction.

"It was that thug Crabbe," said Angelina angrily, "he whacked the Bludger at you the moment he saw you'd got the Snitch- but we won, Tempest, we won!"

Tempest heard a snort from behind her, and turned around, Snitch clutched tightly in her hand. Malfoy had landed close by; white faced with fury; he was still managing to sneer.

"Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?" he said to Tempest. "I've never seen a worse Keeper... but then he was _born in a bin…_ Did you like my lyrics, Potter?"

Behind her, the rest of the team had convened, and she felt tugging and pounding at her back and shoulders as they cheered and celebrated their triumph, but Tempest had her eyes fixed on Malfoy.

" _You_ wrote that rubbish?" she said quietly.

The twins' faces bobbed up and down before her, but she was looking straight through them to Malfoy's ugly expression.

"We wanted to write another couple of verses! But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly- we wanted to sing about his mother, see-"

"Talk about sour grapes," said Angelina, casting Malfoy a disgusted look.

"-we couldn't fit in _useless loser_ either- for his father, you know-"

Fred and George had realised what Malfoy was talking about. Halfway through shaking Tempest's hand, they stiffened, looking around at Malfoy.

"Leave it!" said Angelina at once, taking Fred by the arm. "Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he's just sore he lost, the jumped-up little-"

"-but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?" said Malfoy, sneering. "Spend most of your time with them? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles, even the Weasleys' hovel smells okay-"

George took a step forwards threateningly; Tempest's hand fisted his sleeve. Meanwhile, it was taking the combined efforts of Angelina, Alicia and Katie to stop Fred leaping on Malfoy, who was laughing openly. Though Tempest was holding George, she could feel heat prickling the back of her neck, her throat, making it difficult to swallow.

"Or perhaps," said Malfoy, leering as he backed away, "snuggled up all close to half-breeds and blood-traitors like your mongrel godfather, you're trying to replace your dead parents with a family so dirt poor they're willing to snug up to anyone with a knut-"

Tempest hit Malfoy in the face.

She did not know how she had crossed the distance between them. All she knew was that she wanted for Malfoy's smirking face to contort with pain, for the mask to crack and splinter, and for him to _hurt._

Malfoy staggered backwards, a look of shock in his eyes, and then Tempest felt an elbow in her gut, and George was in her vision, attempting to punch every inch of Malfoy he could reach.

"Tempest! TEMPEST! GEORGE! _NO!_ "

The three of them were knocked to the ground; someone was screaming, Malfoy was yelling, George was swearing, a whistle blowing, and the crowd around them swelled with noise. She did not care. Limbs were everywhere, but she sought out the silver hair and sank her fist into the flesh attached, over and over…

" _IMPEDIMENTA!_ "

She was thrown backwards violently, and leapt straight back up.

"What do you think you're doing?" screamed Madam Hooch, she had been the one to cast the jinx. Tempest stood there, still burning with rage. Hooch was holding her whistle in one hand and wand in the other, her broom lay abandoned several feet away. Malfoy was lying on the groand groaning, his nose bloody, and robes torn. George was sporting a swollen lip; Fred was still being forcibly restrained by the three Chasers, and Crabbe was cackling in the background.

"I've never seen behaviour like it- back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House's office! Go! Now!"

Tempest and George stormed off the pitch, both panting, neither saying a word to each other. The howling and jeering of the crowd grew fainter and fainter until they reached the Entrance Hall, where they could hear nothing except the sound of their own footsteps. George stopped abruptly halfway across. Tempest noticed and stopped as well.

"What?" she said, her voice shaking.

George's jaw worked, until he said, "I think I hit you when I ran for Malfoy."

Tempest frowned, the words taking a moment to register. "Forget about it," she said, "it hardly matters."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be fucking sorry, Malfoy's a bastard-" Looking down at her hands, hands which she now noticed were bruised and purpling near the knuckles, she noticed she was still grasping the Snitch, it's silver wings protruding from between her fingers, struggling for release. "Come on."

They had barely reached the door of Minnie's office when she came marching along the corridor behind them. She was wearing a Gryffindor scarf, but tore it from her throat with shaking hands as she strode towards them, looking livid.

"In!" she said furiously, pointing to the door. Tempest and George entered. She strode around behind her desk and faced them, quivering with rage as she threw the Gryffindor scarf aside onto the floor.

"Well?" she said. "I have never seen such a disgraceful exhibition. Two against one! Explain yourselves!"

"We were provoked," Tempest bit out.

"You were provoked?" shouted Minnie, slamming a fist on to her desk so that an inkpot overturned, spilling dark liquid across the polished wood. "You are provoked on an almost daily basis Tempest! He'd just lost, hadn't he? Of course he wanted to provoke you! What on earth could have justified what you two-"

"He insulted both our families," snarled George.

"But instead of leaving it to Madam Hooch to sort out, you two decided to give an exhibition of Muggle duelling, did you?' bellowed Minnie. "Have you any idea what your combined stupidity-"

" _Hem, hem_."

"Fuck me," muttered Tempest, turning. Umbridge was standing in the doorway wrapped in a green tweed cloak that greatly enhanced her resemblance to a giant toad, and was smiling in the horrible, sickly, ominous way that Tempest had come to associate with imminent misery.

"May I help, Professor McGonagall?" asked Umbridge in her most poisonously sweet voice.

Blood rushed into Minnie's face.

"Help?" she repeated in a constricted voice. "What do you mean, 'help'?"

Umbridge moved forward into the office, still smiling her sickly smile. "Why, I thought you might be grateful for a little extra authority."

Tempest saw Minnie's nostrils flare.

"You thought wrong," Minnie said, turning her back on Umbridge. "Now, you two had better listen closely. I do not care what provocation Malfoy offered you, I do not care if he insulted every family member you possess, your behavior was disgusting and I am giving each of you a week's worth of detention! Do not look at me like that, Miss Potter, you deserve it! And if either of you ever-"

" _Hem, hem._ "

Minnie closed her eyes as though praying for patience as she turned her face toward Umbridge again. " _Yes_?"

"I think they deserve rather more than detentions," said Umbridge, smiling still more broadly.

Minnie's eyes flew open. "But unfortunately," she said, with an attempt at a reciprocal smile that made her look as though she had lockjaw, "it is what I think that counts, as they are in my House, Dolores."

"Well, _actually,_ Minerva," simpered Umbridge, "I think you'll find that what I think _does_ count. Now, where is it? Cornelius just sent it... I mean," she gave a little false laugh as she rummaged in her handbag, "the _Minister_ just sent it… Ah yes..." She had pulled out a piece of parchment that she now unfurled, clearing her throat fussily before starting to read what it said. " _Hem, hem.._. 'Educational Decree Number Twenty-five…'"

"Not another one!" exclaimed Minnie violently.

"Well, yes," said Umbridge, still smiling. "As a matter of fact, Minerva, it was you who made me see that we _needed_ a further amendment… You remember how you overrode me, when I was unwilling to allow the Gryffindor Quidditch team to reform? How you took the case to Dumbledore, who insisted that the team be allowed to play? Well, now, I couldn't have that. I contacted the Minister at once, and he quite agreed with me that the High Inquisitor has to have the power to strip pupils of privileges, or she- that is to say, I- would have less authority than common teachers! And you see now, don't you, Minerva, how right I was in attempting to stop the Gryffindor team reforming? _Dreadful_ tempers..." Tempest gritted her teeth. "Anyway, I was reading out our amendment... _hem, hem…_ 'The High Inquisitor will henceforth have supreme authority over all punishments, sanctions, and removal of privileges pertaining to the students of Hogwarts, and the power to alter such punishments, sanctions, and removals of privileges as may have been ordered by other staff members. Signed, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, Order of Merlin First Class, etc...'"

She rolled up the parchment and put it back into her handbag, still smiling. "So… I really think I will have to ban these two from playing Quidditch ever again," she said, looking from Tempest to George and back again.

Not for the first time that day, the air left Tempest's lungs.

"You're not serious," George said faintly.

"Hardly Mr Weasley, I think a lifelong ban ought to do the trick," said Umbridge, her smile widening still further as she watched him struggle to comprehend what she had said. "You _and_ Miss Potter here. And I think, to be safe, your twin ought to be stopped too- if his teammates had not restrained him, I feel sure he would have attacked young M. Malfoy as well. I will want their broomsticks confiscated, of course; I shall keep them safely in my office, to make sure there is no infringement of my ban. But I am not unreasonable, Professor McGonagall," she continued, turning back to Minnie who was now standing as still as though carved from ice, staring at her. "The rest of the team can continue playing, I saw no signs of violence from any of _them._ Well... good afternoon to you." And with a look of the utmost satisfaction Umbridge left the room, leaving a horrified silence in her wake.

"Banned," said Angelina in a hollow voice, late that evening in the common room. " _Banned._ No Seeker and no Beaters... What on earth are we going to do?"

It did not feel as though they had won the match at all. Disconsolate and angry faces were everywhere Tempest looked; the team themselves were slumped around the fire.

"It's just so unfair," said Alicia numbly. "I mean, what about Crabbe and that Bludger he hit after the whistle had been blown? Has she banned _him?"_

"No," said Ginny miserably; she and Hermione were sitting on either side of Tempest. "He just got lines, I heard Montague laughing about it at dinner."

"And banning Fred when he didn't even do anything!" said Alicia furiously, pummeling her knee with her fist.

"It's not my fault I didn't," said Fred, with a very ugly look on his face. "I would've pounded the little scumbag to a pulp if you three hadn't been holding me back."

Tempest stood up. Everyone looked at her.

"Sorry," she said uselessly.

She left.

Her feet led her where they always led her when she needed to get away. Up and out through the window of the Owlrey.

Snow was falling lightly, catching in her hair and landing on her bare skin, a bite of cold before it melted and became a chill. Her signature ledge had a dusting of snow on it, and she cleared it away with several sweeps of her sleeve. Clutching her now damp arm to herself, she settled down, knees to her chest.

There were lights lit in some windows of the other towers, and the fires in the Entrance and Great Hall had not yet been extinguished, their glow spilling through their massive windows and out onto the snow.

 _Banned._ From playing Quidditch for life. Both her Firebolt and Fred and George's brooms had been taken from them. It didn't mean she would stop flying, but the _team._ Losing two beaters and a seeker was no small blow. Angelina would have to find replacements and train them up before the next game, to say nothing of how Ron must be feeling.

He hadn't been in the common room, in fact Tempest couldn't remember seeing him anywhere after the match, and part of her was grateful that he hadn't heard Malfoy's words at the end. She hoped Hermione might have found him by now, given him a bit of a talking up to.

Even now, hours later, Tempest heated as she recalled the Slytherin singing. It had been such a low attack, that Tempest couldn't believe it hadn't been taken up as an issue by any other teacher. And to think that Malfoy had written it, that it had in someway been _his idea_ …

And then, like he had been summoned, Malfoy rose up past the lip of the roof on his broom.

Tempest wasn't even surprised.

"You arsehole," she said quietly, getting to her feet.

"You hit me," replied Malfoy.

"I'm not sorry," snapped Tempest.

 _Two against one._

"I am sorry we attacked you at the same time," she amended.

"Could I sit?" said Malfoy, drifting closer.

"What? No! You _wrote_ that awful song- you spread it to your whole house and… and do you have any idea how Ron feels?"

"And that means I can't sit?"

"It means if you do sit I can't promise I won't push you off the roof," said Tempest shortly. "You insulted my parents, you said-"

"You said you happy that my dad was tortured."

"-the Weasley's only- no I didn't-"

"You did."

Tempest paused, trying to remember. "I didn't say I was _happy_ ," she said lamely.

Malfoy shrugged.

"I didn't mean it," said Tempest defensively. "It's no excuse for you anyway- the things you said- the Weasleys are the nicest people I've ever met, and their family is worth a thousand times of yours. You don't know a damn thing about any of us, how _dare_ you say that they… that they-"

"You don't know a damn thing about me either," said Malfoy, and at some point, he had drifted all the way over, and Tempest had already instinctively moved aside, allowing him to dismount and stand safely.

She was still furious, but it was with some small amount of gratification that she noticed a purplish bruise standing out on the left side of his face.

"I know you're petty, you're small, spoilt, and your dad's a death eater."

"And I know you're a bitch, Potter."

Tempest blinked. " _Thanks._ Anything else?"

"You've already said yourself you were glad your parents were dead. You were fine with my dad being tortured. Then you'll say you didn't mean either. You're a hypocrite, and you say all this _crap,_ all the time, then act though you're above it all, insulting me or anyone else as you will."

"You're exaggerating."

Malfoy merely looked at her.

 _You're an entitled prick._

 _If I was going to be as dependent on my father as you are, I'm glad he's dead._

 _I'm not sorry._

 _It's really none of your business, Hermione._

 _I'm not sorry._

They were two pale statues that could have been ghosts, both dusted with snow and skin faded from alabaster to an almost translucent white. Tempest thought she could see the veins in Malfoy's neck.

"I am sorry for being such a crap person," said Tempest. Then: "but that doesn't mean that you're not basically a shit person as well."

They looked at each other, and then away, then by mutual unspoken consent, they both sat.

Snow had fallen on their seat when they had been standing, and it instantly soaked through the seat of Tempest's pants. Beside her, Malfoy shifted uncomfortably.

"Aren't you going to apologize then?" said Tempest abruptly. "You set your whole house to target Ron. If two against one was bad, then how does that compare?"

If anything, Malfoy looked surprised. "We've done the same sort of thing to you a thousand times before. You never seemed all that bothered."

"Not that bothered-" said Tempest incredulously; "I was hardly going to pour out my feelings to you at that point, was I? And Ron's not me! I don't _appreciate_ it, but I've had worse and I've gotten used to it. And what you said about his family and mine-" and here Tempest's voice shook for a moment, "that's crossing a line."

"I was unaware that we'd drawn some," said Malfoy. He caught Tempest's eye and cleared his throat. "Then I'm sorry as well. There, we're even."

Tempest scoffed. "Not even _close._ "

"Oh? Do go on."

Tempest could have. She felt perhaps that she should have. There were a thousand and one things she had lingering on the tip of her tongue, but she stopped herself. At some point the thousand had become all of Malfoy, and here she was, still sitting beside him.

And Tempest had never been a paragon of virtue.

"Your guy asked me to join him," she said.

Malfoy looked at her.

"Voldemort," clarified Tempest. "The night he came back." Malfoy remained silent, and it made it easier, easier for her to voice something that she hadn't spoken aloud. "He invited me to join his inner circle. He said… it doesn't matter what he said. But he asked me. So he must have thought that I would say yes."

Still, Malfoy said nothing.

"And I didn't, but he thought I would have. _How could he have?_ " Tempest sucked in a breath through her teeth. "I can't help it sometimes, I just get angry, or I get frustrated, and it's as though everything _else_ matters less, and I say these things… things I don't mean, and that's no excuse, I know I'm not a great person, but surely that doesn't make me like _him._ "

"Why ask me?" said Malfoy, and it was like a kick in the gut. Which, in retrospect, Tempest thought, was only fair.

"I can't seem to keep a single good thing that matters in my life," said Tempest. "So I suppose this is me trying to. Trying to open up and _share,_ trying to explain myself, to be better. Hopefully make people want to stick around."

A familiar smirk crossed Malfoy's face. "I'm a good thing that matters?"

The smirk induced further urges to punch in Tempest, but she tamped down on them with an effort. "You'll do."

Malfoy grinned. It was in stark contrast to his usually sneering features, and Tempest was reminded vividly of the time before Voldemort's return. It had been simpler, happier and _better._

"In the interests of sharing… I know I'm not a great person," said Malfoy mildly. "I know that might be difficult to understand, as amazing as I am-" Tempest snorted. Malfoy gave her a reproving look. "I say things as well. I usually mean them… but I often regret them. I do things I mean to do… then I feel guilty. I heard about what Umbridge did."

"You weren't pleased?"

"No I was," said Malfoy hurriedly, "Slytherin will win all of the games for the rest of the year, so thank you. I'll be glad, but I'll miss the challenge."

Tempest let out a hard sigh. "It's like you're two separate people, Malfoy."

"I could say the same about you."

"Could you?"

Malfoy examined her for a moment, his forehead creasing. Snow had collected in his hair, and formed little caps on his shoulders and in the folds of his robes. If they stayed outside much longer, the snow would begin to melt, and the damp would seep through their clothes.

"No, actually. I think you're pretty much the same everywhere," said Malfoy.

Tempest laughed in surprise. "How reassuring."

And together, they watched the movement of the Giant Squid by the ripples that spread across the lake, watched the flight of a late night post owl, which winged its way out of the Owlrey beneath their feet, and soared up into the sky. Then it turned, and headed directly for them.

Tempest and Malfoy exchanged glances, and both stood, anticipating the owl's arrival. As it grew closer, Tempest squinted. "That's Pigwidgeon."

Malfoy frowned. " _What?_ "

Tempest extended an arm, and the tiny owl landed, fluttering its wings and holding out an expectant leg.

Confused and rather cautious, Tempest untied the piece of paper that was tied on, and read the few sentences scribbled on. She looked up at Malfoy.

"I've got to go."

Malfoy looked rather bemused. "All right, fine. I wasn't keeping you here or anything- er, you're smiling."

"It's allowed," said Tempest, unable to repress it. She eyed Malfoy's broom. "Mind giving me a lift down to the ground? Hagrid's back."

"Urgh, that half-breed."

"For fuck's sake, _Malfoy!_ "

Malfoy laughed.


	8. Guilt

_**Chapter Eight-**_ ****

"Where've you been?" demanded Hermione, as soon as Tempest arrived, windswept and panting at the side door of the castle which led onto the grounds.

"Just walking," said Tempest, sucking in deep breaths as she fumbled with her clothing for Sirius's knife. "Ron, you all right?"

Ron looked morose and miserable. "I'm not the one who was banned from playing. I should've been."

"Nonsense!" said Tempest and Hermione at the same time.

"The team is damn lucky to have you," said Tempest, "what happened today was not your fault, and you shouldn't have to pay for it- rather, I think none of us should, but that's-"

Hermione was looking at Tempest's hair. "Have you been flying?" she demanded.

Tempest frowned at her. "My broom got taken off me."

Both Ron and Hermione looked at each other, and then shrugged. "Well then, where were you?" asked Ron. We looked everywhere for you, then just decided to send Pig, because we couldn't find you."

"I already said, I went for a walk about the castle," said Tempest, fiddling around with Sirius's knife and looking for the right attachment and hoping she'd gotten rid of the snow on her clothing, "we must have been going in circles around each other is all- aha!"

She flicked the right attachment free, and inserted it into the lock. With a creak, the door swung open, and the three of them piled through, pulling the door shut behind them.

"Here." Tempest had slipped through the window of the Gryffindor tower girl's dorm, and grabbed the essentials: invisibility cloak, Marauders Map, and a thick pair of gloves. She pulled the cloak out of her bag and swept it over the three of them.

They were getting taller, all of them, and the cloak brushed at their ankles as they began a brisk walk across the snowy ground, their boots sinking in with every step. Little golden squares of light shone before them, and smoke coiled up from Hagrid's chimney.

They crunched excitedly forward, until they reached the wooden front door. When Tempest raised her fist and knocked, a dog started barking frantically inside.

"Hagrid, it's us!" Tempest called through the keyhole.

"Shoulda known!" said a gruff voice.

They beamed at one another under the cloak; they could tell that Hagrid's voice was pleased.

"Bin home three seconds... Out the way, Fang... _Out the way,_ yeh dozy dog..."

The bolt was drawn back, the door creaked open, and Hagrid's head appeared in the gap.

Hermione screamed.

"Merlin's beard, keep it down!" said Hagrid hastily, staring wildly over their heads. "Under that cloak, are yeh? Well, get in, get in!"

"I'm sorry!" Hermione gasped, as the three of them squeezed past Hagrid into the house and pulled the cloak off themselves so he could see them. "I just- oh, _Hagrid_!"

"It's nuthin', it's nuthin'!" said Hagrid hastily, shutting the door behind them and hurrying to close all the curtains, but Hermione continued to gaze up at him in horror.

Hagrid's hair was matted with congealed blood, and his left eye had been reduced to a puffy slit amid a mass of purple-and-black bruises. There were many cuts on his face and hands, some of them still bleeding, and he was moving gingerly, which made Tempest suspect broken ribs. It was obvious that he had only just got home; a thick black traveling cloak lay over the back of a chair and a haversack large enough to carry several small children leaned against the wall inside the door. Hagrid himself, twice the size of a normal man and three times as broad, was now limping over to the fire and placing a copper kettle over it.

"Hagrid, what the hell happened to you?" demanded Tempest, while Fang danced around them all, trying to lick their faces.

"Told yeh, _nuthin_ '," said Hagrid firmly. "Want a cuppa?"

"Come off it," said Ron, "you're in a right state!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, I'm fine," said Hagrid, straightening up and turning to beam at them all, but wincing. "Blimey, it's good ter see you three again- had good summers, did yeh?"

"Hagrid, you've been attacked!" said Ron.

"Fer the las' time, it's nuthin'!" said Hagrid firmly.

"Would you say it was nothing if one of us turned up with a pound of mince instead of a face?" Ron demanded.

"You ought to go and see Madam Pomfrey, Hagrid," said Hermione anxiously. "Some of those cuts look nasty."

"I'm dealin' with it, all righ'?" said Hagrid repressively. He walked across to the enormous wooden table that stood in the middle of his cabin and twitched aside a tea towel that had been lying on it. Underneath was a raw, bloody, green-tinged steak slightly larger than the average car tire.

"You're not going to eat that, are you, Hagrid?" said Ron, leaning in for a closer look. "It looks poisonous."

"It's s'posed ter look like that, it's dragon meat," Hagrid said. "An' I didn' get it ter eat."

He picked up the steak and slapped it over the left side of his face. Greenish blood trickled down into his beard as he gave a soft moan of satisfaction.

"Tha's better. It helps with the stingin', yeh know."

Tempest had been staring silently at Hagrid the entire time. No ordinary mugger could do this to Hagrid, nor did he seem particularly angry about his injuries. He wouldn't see Madam Pomfrey. "It was the giants, wasn't it?" she said quietly. Ron and Hermione's speculative whispering to each other died out instantly.

Hagrid's better eye widened, and he shushed her urgently from behind the steak. "Don' yeh go on abou' it now, sit down, the lot of yeh."

They sat down while Hagrid went about setting tea in front of each of them, and when he had sat down and slapped the steak back over his face, Ron piped up. "So you were attacked by giants?" he said urgently. "Where were they? How did you get back?"

"Mountains," said Hagrid unhelpfully. "An' calm down, I'll start from the beginning."

It wasn't a happy tale, or a hopeful one, and at the end of it all, the four of them sat around the table with their rapidly cooling tea in a solemn silence. It had always been a long shot getting the giants onside. Decades if not centuries of prejudice and slayings that had driven the giants into the mountains where infighting and kinkilling were commonplace.

It was hardly surprising that the giants were not going to come. Their reticence toward helping wizard-kind was understandable, as was their predisposition to helping Voldemort, who promised mass-killings of the very people who even now, hated the giants.

Fudge's reaction toward Dumbledore suggesting they treat with the giants had been one of utter hysteria. He had thought Dumbledore mad at the very suggestion, and in the face of that, even if the giants had listened to Hagrid and Maxime, how would their help be treated?

Somewhere along the line, anger had turned into a deep-seated recognition that the government and the majority of the population they were trying to save- trying to help- were if not actively, then passively working against them.

Snow was filling up Hagrid's window now. Tempest had ducked down beneath the table to attend to Fang, who covered her neck with slobbery kisses, and was loving having his ears scratched.

"Hagrid?" said Hermione quietly after a while. Tempest reemerged from beneath the table.

"Mmm?"

"Did you... was there any sign of... did you hear anything about your... your... mother while you were there?"

Hagrid's unobscured eye rested upon her, and Hermione looked rather scared.

"I'm sorry... I... forget it-"

"Dead," Hagrid grunted. "Died years ago. They told me."

"Oh... I'm... I'm really sorry," said Hermione in a very small voice.

Hagrid shrugged his massive shoulders. "No need," he said shortly. "Can' remember her much. Wasn' a great mother."

They were silent again.

Tempest reached over the tabletop to lay a hand on Hagrid's arm. After a moment, he moved his other hand, the one not holding the dragon steak to his eye, to cover hers.

Eventually, she said: "I'll bring you some potions as soon as possible. To help speed up the healing, and get rid of some of the pain."

Hagrid patted her hand. "Tha's kind of yeh, Tempest."

"You still haven't said who attacked you," said Ron.

"I haven' bin attacked!" said Hagrid emphatically. "I-"

But the rest of his words were drowned in a sudden outbreak of rapping on the door. Hermione gasped; her mug slipped through her fingers and smashed on the floor; Fang yelped. All four of them stared at the window beside the doorway. The shadow of somebody small and squat rippled across the thin curtain.

" _It's her_!" Ron whispered.

"Up," said Tempest immediately. "On the table, quickly!" She seized Ron's arm and leapt up onto the tabletop, hauling Hermione up closely after. She whirled the Invisibility Cloak over the three of them, and they huddled together tightly in the centre of the table. Fang was barking madly at the door. Hagrid looked thoroughly confused.

"Hagrid, hide our mugs!"

Hagrid seized Tempest's and Ron's mugs and shoved them under the cushion in Fang's basket. Fang was now leaping up at the door; Hagrid pushed him out of the way with his foot and pulled it open.

Umbridge was standing in the doorway wearing her green tweed cloak and a matching hat with earflaps. Lips pursed, she leaned back so as to see Hagrid's face; she barely reached his navel.

" _So,_ " she said slowly and loudly, as though speaking to somebody deaf. "You're Hagrid, are you?" Without waiting for an answer she strolled into the room, her bulging eyes rolling in every direction.

"Get away," she snapped, waving her handbag at Fang, who had bounded up to her and was attempting to lick her face. Tempest gritted her teeth. Looking down, she noticed with horror that the cloak did not entirely hide the soles of their shoes, and she motioned urgently with her eyes for Ron and Hermione to lower themselves. It was with relief that the cloak puddled a little at their feet, and they were safely obscured.

"Er- I don' want ter be rude," said Hagrid, staring at her, "but who the ruddy hell are you?"

"My name is Dolores Umbridge."

Her eyes were sweeping the cabin. Twice they went directly through where Tempest stood, pressed against Ron and Hermione. Ron seemed to be holding his breath.

"Dolores Umbridge?" Hagrid said, sounding thoroughly confused. "I thought you were one o' them Ministry- don' you work with Fudge?"

"I was Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, yes," said Umbridge, now pacing around the cabin, taking in every tiny detail within, from Hagrid's haversack against the wall to an abandoned traveling cloak. "I am now the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher-"

"Tha's brave of yeh," said Hagrid, "there's not many'd take tha' job anymore-"

"-and Hogwarts High Inquisitor," said Umbridge, giving no sign that she had heard him.

"Wha's that?" said Hagrid, frowning.

"Precisely what I was going to ask," said Umbridge, pointing at the broken shards of china on the floor that had been Hermione's mug.

"Oh," said Hagrid, with a most unhelpful glance up at the tabletop where Tempest, Ron, and Hermione stood hidden, "oh, tha' was... was Fang. He broke a mug. So I had ter use this one instead."

Hagrid pointed to the mug from which he had been drinking, one hand still clamped over the dragon steak pressed to his eye. Umbridge stood facing him now, taking in every detail of his appearance instead of the cabin's.

"I heard voices," she said quietly.

"I was talkin' ter Fang," said Hagrid stoutly.

"And was he talking back to you?"

"Well... in a manner o' speakin'," said Hagrid, looking uncomfortable. "I sometimes say Fang's near enough human-"

"There are three sets of footprints in the snow leading from the castle doors to your cabin," said Umbridge sleekly.

Hermione gasped; Tempest clapped a hand over her mouth.

Luckily, Fang was sniffing loudly around the hem of Umbridge's robes, and she did not appear to have heard.

"Well, I on'y jus' got back," said Hagrid, waving an enormous hand at the haversack. "Maybe someone came ter call earlier an' I missed em."

"There are no footsteps leading away from your cabin door."

"Well I... I don' know why that'd be..." said Hagrid, tugging nervously at his beard and again glancing toward where Tempest, Ron, and Hermione half-crouched, as though asking for help. "Erm…"

Umbridge wheeled around and strode the length of the cabin, looking around carefully. She bent and peered under the bed. She opened Hagrid's cupboards. She passed by the table many times, and their legs beginning to cramp, Tempest, Ron and Hermione had to clutch each others arms for support. After looking carefully inside the enormous cauldron Hagrid used for cooking Umbridge wheeled around again and said, "What has happened to you? How did you sustain those injuries?"

Hagrid hastily removed the dragon steak from his face, which revealed the black-and-purple bruising all around his eye, not to mention the large amount of fresh and congealed blood on his face. "Oh, I... had a bit of an accident," he said lamely.

"What sort of accident?"

"I-I tripped."

"You tripped," she repeated coolly.

"Yeah, tha's right. Over... over a friends broomstick. I don' fly, meself. Well, look at the size o' me, I don' reckon there's a broomstick that'd hold me. Friend o' mine breeds Abraxan horses, I dunno if you've ever seen 'em, big beasts, winged, yeh know, I've had a bit of a ride on one o' them an' it was-"

"Where have you been?" asked Umbridge, cutting coolly through Hagrid's babbling.

"Where've I…?"

"Been, yes," she said. "Term started more than two months ago. Another teacher has had to cover your classes. None of your colleagues has been able to give me any information as to your whereabouts. You left no address. Where have you been?"

There was a pause in which Hagrid stared at her with his newly uncovered eye. Tempest squeezed her own shut. "I- I've been away for me health," he said.

"For your health," said Umbridge. Tempest opened her eyes to see Umbridge inspecting Hagrid's discolored and swollen face; dragon blood dripped gently onto his waistcoat in the silence. "I see."

"Yeah," said Hagrid, "bit o'- o' fresh air, yeh know-"

"Yes, as gamekeeper fresh air must be so difficult to come by," said Umbridge sweetly.

The small patch of Hagrid's face that was not black or purple flushed. Tempest decided enough was enough. She closed her eyes again. She wasn't sure if this would work.

"Well- change o' scene, yeh know-"

"Mountain scenery?" said Umbridge swiftly.

Tempest focused on Fang's panting, trying to block out everything else, from the press of Ron and Hermione against her, the texture of the cloak draping over them, Hagrid's cautious answer… She thought of the wolf, did not call on magic, but instinct, and she huffed once, low and heated.

Fang's reaction was immediate.

Previously disappointed by Umbridge's annoyance, he sprang up again, his tail wagging furiously and barking with renewed fervor. Sweeps of Umbridge's handbag did not dissuade him, and she was pushed back toward the door to Hagrid's cabin.

"Control your dog!" she said loudly, trying to fend off Fang, "get your mongrel off me!"

Hagrid looked bemused. "Fang! Ger off her," he tried half-heartedly. "Down, boy, down!"

Tempest huffed again, and Fang all but bowled Umbridge out the door and into the snow, where she staggered to her feet and stared in outrage at Fang, who was now being restrained by Hagrid.

"Your dog is a menace!" she said shrilly.

"He's jus' excited, tha's all," said Hagrid earnestly, "he don' mean anythin' by it."

Umbridge drew herself up to her full and unimpressive height. "That beast should be on a chain!" She began to sweep away, disheveled and furious, before she turned back. "Be warned that as High Inquisitor it is my duty to inspect my fellow teachers. I will see you again soon- without that mongrel dog."

Hagrid tugged Fang backwards and closed the door. Fang immediately stopped barking and padded over to the table and flopped down beside it. Hagrid, who had previously been straining to hold him back, gave him a confused look.

"Is she gone?" asked Hermione in hushed tones.

Hagrid stumped across the room and pulled back the curtain an inch or sow. "She's goin' back ter the castle," he said in a low voice. "Blimey... inspectin' people, is she?"

"Yeah," said Tempest, pulling the cloak off and jumping down from the table. "Sorry about your table, Hagrid- _Scourgify._ " She crouched beside Fang, ruffling his neck and nuzzling his face. "Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy?"

"Um... what sort of thing are you planning to do with us in class, Hagrid?" asked Hermione cautiously.

"Oh, don' you worry abou' that, I've got a great load o' lessons planned," said Hagrid enthusiastically, scooping up his dragon steak from the table and slapping it over his eye again. "I've bin keepin' a couple o' creatures saved fer yer O.W.L. year, you wait, they're somethin' really special."

"Erm… special in what way?" asked Hermione tentatively.

"I'm not sayin'," said Hagrid happily. "I don' want ter spoil the surprise."

"Look, Hagrid," said Hermione urgently, dropping all pretense, "Professor Umbridge won't be at all happy if you bring anything to class that's too dangerous-"

"Dangerous?" said Hagrid, looking genially bemused. "Don' be silly, I wouldn' give yeh anythin' dangerous! I mean, all righ', they can look after themselves-"

"Hagrid, you've got to pass Umbridge's inspection, and to do that it would really be better if she saw you teaching us how to look after porlocks, how to tell the difference between knarls and hedgehogs, stuff like that!" said Hermione earnestly.

"But tha's not very interestin', Hermione," said Hagrid. "The stuff I've got's much more impressive, I've bin bringin' 'em on fer years, I reckon I've got the on'y domestic herd in Britain-"

"Hermione's not wrong," said Tempest. "Umbridge is trying to get rid of any teachers who are too close to Dumbledore. Minnie just barely managed to escape being put on probation. Trelawney didn't manage to dodge the bullet and she's on thin ice."

"Hagrid... please..." said Hermione, a note of real desperation in her voice. "Please, teach us something dull that's bound to come up in our OWL..."

But Hagrid merely yawned widely and cast a one-eyed look of longing toward the vast bed in the corner.

"Lis'en, it's bin a long day an' it's late," he said, patting Hermione gently on the shoulder, so that her knees gave way and hit the floor with a thud. "Oh- sorry-" He pulled her back up by the neck of her robes. "Look, don' you go worryin' abou' me, I promise yeh I've got really good stuff planned fer yer lessons now I'm back... Now you lot had better get back up to the castle, an' don' forget ter wipe yer footprints out behind yeh!"

"I dunno if you got through to him," said Ron a short while later when, having checked that the coast was clear, they walked back up to the castle through the thickening snow, leaving no trace behind them due to the Obliteration Charm Hermione was performing as they went.

"Then we'll go back again tomorrow," said Hermione determinedly. "I'll plan his lessons for him if I have to. I don't care if she throws out Trelawney but she's not taking Hagrid!"

Tempest and Hermione plowed her way back to Hagrid's cabin through two feet of snow on Sunday morning. Ron had wanted to come, but his mountain of homework had reached peak levels, so he stayed behind. Not that the pair of them were met with much success. After waiting a half-hour for him by his cabin, he had emerged from the forest where any number of dangerous creatures lurked.

Tempest had brought her bag filled with her supply of healing potions, balms and poultices. Some of them were for bruises, others for broken bones. She had selected a particular potion that had helped Sirius immensely with his broken ankle, and she hoped it would have a similar effect on Hagrid's ribs.

As she had gone about Hagrid, deciding what to give him, Hermione had tried to persuade Hagrid to change his lesson plans to study less dangerous creatures. He hadn't listened to a word the she had said, and no matter their urging, declared he wouldn't make them suffer through what he termed to be a boring lesson. While Tempest empathized greatly with Hagrid's love for the strangest and most hazardous creatures (Blast-Ended Skrewts aside) Umbridge was a great threat, and already unlikely to approach Hagrid's inspection with an open eye.

Here, Tempest felt decidedly guilty. Perhaps if she hadn't told Fang to jump at the woman…

But Sirius had said that Umbridge loathed part humans… and it was no longer a secret that Hagrid was of a mixed background.

Hagrid's reappearance at the staff table at breakfast next day was not greeted by enthusiasm from all students. Some, like Fred, George, and Lee, roared with delight and sprinted up the aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables to wring Hagrid's enormous hand; others, like Parvati and Lavender, exchanged gloomy looks and shook their heads.

Those Tempest ignored. There would always be those who preferred a tamer lesson, less fraught with danger, but Tempest, who was not unaccustomed to danger and would have liked to avoid such circumstances if possible, was entirely willing to experience further if it would make Hagrid happy.

If only Umbridge were not a factor.

Bundled up in cloaks, scarves and gloves, Tempest, Ron and Hermione made their way down to Hagrid's on Tuesday, apprehensive of what Hagrid had in store for them, and whether Umbridge was there already, clipboard in hand.

She wasn't, actually, and it was with slight relief that the three of them arrived before Hagrid at the edge of the forest.

The sight of Hagrid however, concerned Tempest greatly. Her potions had done a great deal to fade his bruises, which were now barely visible, but cuts on his face and hands which should have healed along with the bruises, looked just as fresh and still bleeding beneath bandages. Had he been attacked by something which prevented cuts from healing? Perhaps a curse that rendered the victim unable to be healed? But surely if that were the case, his bruises wouldn't have healed either.

Hagrid waited until the rest of the class had gathered, then led the way into the forest for their lesson. The lesson began well, with the subject being Thestrals, creatures which Tempest was fascinated with, and actually great material to cover in class, yet at Umbridge's unwelcome arrival, things, predictably, went to shit.

By the time the lesson was over, Tempest was shaking with rage, Hagrid was confused and upset, Ron indignant and Hermione trying to maintain a level head, but just as furious as Tempest.

"That foul, lying, twisted old gargoyle!" stormed Hermione half an hour later, as they made their way back up to the castle through the channels they had made earlier in the snow. "You see what she's up to? It's her thing about half-breeds all over again- she's trying to make out Hagrid's some kind of dim-witted troll, just because he had a giantess for a mother- and oh, it's not fair, that really wasn't a bad lesson at all- I mean, all right, if it had been Blast-Ended Skrewts again, but thestrals are fine- in fact, for Hagrid, they're really good!"

"Umbridge said they're dangerous," said Ron.

Tempest scoffed.

"Well, it's like Hagrid said, they can look after themselves," said Hermione impatiently, "and I suppose a teacher like Grubbly-Plank wouldn't usually show them to us before NEWT level, but, well, they _are_ very interesting, aren't they? The way some people can see them and some can't! I wish I could."

"No you don't," said Tempest quietly.

Hermione looked horrorstruck.

"Oh Tempest- no, I'm sorry, of course I don't, it was a really stupid thing to say-"

"I'll draw you a picture," Tempest offered half-heartedly, and they said no more about it.

Time went on.

Tempest eagerly anticipated the next full moon, and when the date arrived, she made her excuses, brushing aside pranktime with Fred and George, leaving her homework at the bottom of her bag where it decidedly belonged, and hightailed it into the forest with Sirius' bike as quickly as she could.

Her broom was taken for now, but Tempest took to the air in defiance. Though the sky had not yet darkened, she was invisible against the clouds. She arrived at the rendezvous at least an hour and a half early. It had been a need to escape the stifling castle, less homelike than it had ever been now that Umbridge's touch was visible everywhere Tempest looked. She saw it in the hard set of Minnie's mouth, in Ron's unfounded guilt over the state of the Quidditch team, Hermione's stress over Hagrid and even in the DA.

Proud as Tempest was of everyone's progress, it never left her mind that they were all there because they had been failed.

Though Tempest had arrived at the mountain early, she did not have to wait long. Sirius arrived not twenty minutes later, like her, bundled up warmly with a thick scarf. Over his arm, he had another jacket slung.

"You're early," grinned Tempest, getting up off the rock she had been sitting on to embrace Sirius.

"Look who's talking," replied Sirius, wrapping his arms around Tempest and squeezing her so hard, it felt like all of her separate pieces sealed right back up.

"I had to get out of the castle," explained Tempest, "Merlin, I've missed you."

"Same here, Pest."

Tempest laughed and they pulled apart.

"I brought you a present actually," said Sirius, "Minnie told me about the whole Quidditch situation, and I thought you might need cheering up, so-"

He held his arm up between them, and Tempest finally recognized the jacket.

The smile she had been wearing since Sirius arrived grew, if possible, another inch. "You're joking," she said in awe. She shucked off her thick cloak without a thought and slipped her arms through the jacket Sirius was holding, sighing with contentment as it settled around her shoulders. Magical warmth suffused her instantly, and it was like another of Sirius's hugs all over again.

"My first jacket," said Sirius proudly, "bought it when I was your age, the same time I bought my bike. You kept on stealing it back home, so I thought I'd just make it official and bequeath it to you." He gave a deep bow and swept his arms out. "My queen."

"Get up you idiot," laughed Tempest. She ran a hand down the worn leather front, " _thank you._ "

"I actually was going to hold out till Christmas," said Sirius, grinning, "then I got another idea, so here's skipping the wait."

"Well I love it," declared Tempest. She gathered her cloak into a bundle and managed to stuff it down inside one of the jacket's expanded pockets. It'd be difficult to get out later, but for now, Tempest reveled in the familiarity of the jacket.

The enchantments woven into the jacket were old, and so intricate Tempest could feel the magic singing through the fabric.

"And I've got nothing on me to give you," said Tempest. Sirius began to wave her off, but a thought seized Tempest, and she shoved her hands deep into her jeans pockets, and managed to fish out a bag of toffees she had bought for the twins to enchant. She'd forgotten to give it to them before she left, but now she offered the bag to Sirius, and with a bark of laughter, he took a handful.

"These are very welcome," he said, through three shoved in his mouth at once, and an idea for Sirius's Christmas present came at once to Tempest. "Let me tell you, sweets are in very short supply at Grimmauld Place, and Remus isn't great at remembering to bring me any, no matter how many times I ask."

"Speaking of Remus," said Tempest, "how's he? Is he at the woods yet?"

Sirius sobered quite quickly. "We're so early he won't be arriving till much later… but… he's been having a rough time of it with the werewolves Dumbledore wants him to ingratiate himself with. He tries not to let on, but I've known him since we were eleven, and he's not coping well."

"He's an outsider."

"Most werewolves do tend to withdraw from wizarding society after they've been bitten. It's obvious to them when one of their kind has been trying to make it outside of their circles."

The words seemed wrong coming out of Sirius's mouth. "He's not one of their kind," she said, but those words sounded wrong as well. "He's one of us," she reasserted.

"I know he is," said Sirius, "without a question. But both sides are true. He's a werewolf, and it's a part of him, not all of him. It's just… I want… I want better for him."

Tempest leant into Sirius's side. "Things will be better," she said, inhaling the faint smell of whiskey still clinging to Sirius's clothes. "Maybe not soon… but they will be."

Sirius wrapped an arm about Tempest's shoulders and tugged her closer, in against the cold mountain air. Though her torso was now toasty warm, her face and fingertips were still exposed.

"Come on," he said eventually, "let's make things better now."

With a loud _crack,_ the mountainside was empty once again.

Tempest arrived back at Hogwarts in the early hours of the morning, utterly exhausted. The flight back to the Forbidden Forest from the mountain where Sirius saw her off had been a difficult one; with the way her eyes kept slipping shut.

Invisibility cloak thrown over her, and the Marauders Map blurring before her eyes, she managed by some miracle to make it to Gryffindor tower without disturbing any ghosts or crossing paths with Mrs Norris.

When the Fat Lady swung open, Tempest stumbled through the portrait hole and collapsed on the floor beside one of the sofas before the fireplace. It was before Dobby was due to light the fire, and all that lay in the grate were cold embers.

Unable to see herself making her way up the stairs to bed, Tempest remained where she was. She untied her boots and rekindled the fire with a spell, and closed her eyes.

She could have fallen asleep, and almost did, but right on the cusp of drifting off, the sound of something other than the crackling of wood made Tempest crack her eyes open. It was the slow steady sound of breathing.

Fighting gravity, Tempest sat up higher, and peered over the arm of the sofa she was leaning against. A pair of striped socks came into her line of sight, filled with feet, one in each, which was only right. Then, a pair of striped pajama pants, not dissimilar to her own, Tempest thought idly, a matching pajama top, a freckled neck, then red hair.

Tempest blinked slowly.

"George?"

She gave one socked foot a good prod.

George came awake with a gurgle and flailing arms, and he stared around frantically, if blearily. "Whazzat?"

Tempest gave a half-hearted wave from her position on the floor. "Over here, mate."

"Merlin," groaned George, sitting up properly and looking down at Tempest. "What… what time is it?"

Tempest shrugged. George was wearing the watch, not her. "No idea. Past midnight?" she said vaguely. "I was out for a walk… long walk. What're you doing sleeping down here?"

"I was waiting for you," said George, rubbing at his eyes. "Hermione said you weren't in your dorm, so I thought I'd wait up… er, sort of failed at that, really."

"Oh yes, the toffees," Tempest swore and grabbed at her pockets until she found the remains of the bag. "Er, sorry, we ate quite a few."

Too late, Tempest realized her mistake.

"We?"

There was too much haze between Tempest and a rational excuse, and though she was swatting at the fog urgently, it was not fast enough. "Er, Luna Lovegood and I."

Now fully awake, George's expression was becoming more and more suspicious. He narrowed his eyebrows at her. "You said you went for a walk just before."

"Er, a walk with Luna."

"For-" and here George finally checked his watch, "seven and a half hours?"

Tempest suddenly felt irrationally irritated. "So you're policing my comings and goings now, are you? I went out, I'm sorry I didn't drop off the toffees earlier, and that they're now half-eaten, it's my fault for keeping you up and I feel bad, but what I've been doing is my business, leave it alone."

George held his hands up defensively. "All right, all right, I was worried, is all."

"Everyone's been worrying about me lately," said Tempest impatiently, an image of Hermione flashing before her eyes. She hauled herself to her feet.

But George did not appear to hear her. His eyes were fixed on Sirius's jacket, which Tempest was still wearing.

"That jacket's too big for you," said George slowly. "It's not yours."

Tempest bristled. "It is now. It was a present."

The expression on George's face was changing. It went from defensively amused to a dawning horror. He got up off the sofa and walked over to stand in front of Tempest. He looked at her very hard, from her hair, which she thought might be a mess from all the running and flying, to Sirius's jacket, to her (now ripped) jeans, and untied boots.

"You're shagging Malfoy."

Tempest was stunned into silence.

George had said the words like the answer to some great puzzle, with a horror and disgust in his voice that indicated that the answer to said puzzle was akin to the grotesque remains of a rotting animal.

Tempest continued to gape at him.

When she finally found her voice, after many eternities that were in fact mere seconds, she managed to force out-

"I'm… really… not."

George continued to look at her, wide-eyed and searching, and after another eternity, he let out a long breath and seemed to deflate.

"Okay, you're not shagging Malfoy," said George, sounding immensely relieved.

" _I_ know I'm not," said Tempest in disbelief, "why the bloody hell would you think I was?"

"It just…" George walked back around the sofa and sank down on it. "It made sense."

This was quickly becoming the strangest conversation that Tempest had ever had in her life, and this included one where she was informed magic was real, another where she was told her godfather was a mass murderer, another where she was told her godfather was in fact _not_ a mass murderer, her friend's rat was-

"It really _doesn't_ make sense," said Tempest, following him to the sofa and sitting down on the other side of it, body angled to face him.

George didn't reply, and Tempest felt as though a great gaping pit of misunderstanding and confusion had opened up between them. She reached over and rapped George on the forehead to bridge it.

George started. "But it _did_ make sense," he said, "you shagging Malfoy-"

"George, if you don't stop saying 'it made sense,' and 'shagging Malfoy,'" Tempest grimaced, shivered, and went on, "I swear I'll do something violent. Where the hell is all of this coming from?"

George kept his mouth clamped closed, and shook his head. Tempest really was too tired for this. "And could you hurry up about it too, because I'm exhausted."

Finally, he spoke. "See, _that._ You've been vanishing off all the time lately, sometimes for the whole night, Hermione says. And… he watches you a lot at mealtimes too."

This was bizarre. "Malfoy and I can't stand each other. I'm not sure if you noticed that brawl we had the other day? The one you were in as well?"

George now looked as though he had bit into a lemon. "I thought perhaps… that was part of it. Because…. When you're out… the next morning you're always… injured. Like right now. And you're wearing a men's jacket."

Tempest stopped massaging her arm. Moony had accidentally thrown Buck into a tree not two hours ago, and the bone had cracked. Sirius had done his best to fix it, but he was no Madam Pomfrey, and it still ached a fair amount. Then the implications of what George had said caught up to her. She had to put a stop to this right away. "I was with _Sirius,_ " she hissed, triple checking that the room was indeed empty of anyone else but them. "It's the full fucking moon, all right? The first time Padfoot had a full moon by himself, he was badly injured, so now, I sneak out, we meet, go to a forest somewhere, and I go up a tree with my wand and run interference if Moony gets too excited."

This lie slid easily off Tempest's tongue, and she went on. "Usually Moony notices me up in the tree, so he does a fair amount of trying to knock the tree down. I get banged up a bit, but it's nothing I can't handle- the jacket is _mine,_ Sirius gave it to me- George, for goodness sakes, _really?_ "

George had grown positively shamed-faced as Tempest went on, and he looked away. "I thought it was one of those unhealthy relationship things," he said.

"I'm genuinely thankful for your concern-" Tempest shook her head vigorously. "No, I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. _Why_ would you think such a thing?"

"You went to the ball with him last year," said George.

Tempest laughed. She had to. "And since then, he's continued to be an utter arse to Ron and Hermione, to your entire family. His dad was there when Voldemort returned, and they're all denying that night ever happened. His views regarding magical roots are terrible, and just recently he made that _atrocious_ song and said a ton of shit, then got us kicked off the Quidditch Team.

George, I went to the ball with Malfoy last year because I didn't care one tit whether or not I stood on his feet a lot, or whether I looked terrible with him. I never _wanted_ to go to the ball, I knew I'd have a terrible time, and I thought I'd rather make someone like him have a terrible night than ruin it for anyone I actually liked. Merlin, I would've gone with _you_ in a heartbeat if I hadn't thought I wouldn't ruin your night. I can't _believe_ this is where we ended up!"

"You would've gone with me," said George slowly.

"Yes," said Tempest impatiently. "Stars above. Any other strange notions you want cleared up? Apparently I wasn't destined to get any sleep tonight."

"I'm really sorry," said George sheepishly. The bag of toffees Tempest had given him hung limply from one hand. She'd have to sneak through the Hogsmeade tunnel to get more quite soon. "I was worried is all, and I suppose it got away from me. You do act awfully suspiciously sometimes though, Tempest."

Tempest grimaced. "Clearly I need to get better at acting then." She groaned. "I thought I was so subtle."

"If it helps, I came to entirely the wrong conclusion," offered George with a wry smile.

"Urgh, it does and it doesn't," said Tempest. "Look… on pain of something very painful, don't tell anyone about the full moon thing, all right? I can't have anyone knowing. I shouldn't even have told you really, should have let you believe… well, you took me by surprise."

"Thank you for telling me," said George hastily. "I won't tell a soul."

"Not even your other half."

"Fred?"

"Of course Fred, not even him."

Shaking her head at the ridiculousness of the entire situation, Tempest slopped off to the girls dorm, guilt dogging her footsteps.

The weather changed very quickly days into December. The cold became biting, snow became thick and heavy, and from what Tempest could see, grounded, the remains of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were having a rough time in the wind. Homework piled up, and Ron and Hermione's prefect duties also became more and more onerous as Christmas approached. They were called upon to supervise the decoration of the castle ("You try putting up tinsel when Peeves has got the other end and is trying to strangle you with it," said Ron), to watch over first and second years spending their break times inside because of the bitter cold ("And they're cheeky little snotrags, you know, we definitely weren't that rude when we were in first year," said Ron), and to patrol the corridors in shifts with Argus Filch, who suspected that the holiday spirit might show itself in an outbreak of wizard duels ("He's got dung for brains, that one," said Ron furiously).

They were so busy that Hermione's hobby of knitting elf hats to free the elves she believed to be enslaved had to stop. She was quite distressed that she was down to her last three so close to Christmas, and Tempest hadn't yet managed to steel herself to tell Hermione that it was Dobby who was collecting all her hats. All Hermione was doing was simply increasing Dobby's work tenfold.

Christmas was something Tempest was desperately looking forward to. She would be back with Sirius, _properly,_ free of the worries of Hogwarts, if only momentarily. And Sirius had said that he had made plans for them, plans that made his eyes gleam.

To be honest, Tempest wouldn't have cared if his plans were to rob a bank, she'd just be happy to be there.

The DA meetings were something Tempest was sorry to have to stop. It was addictive seeing her classmates improve and become proficient at all kinds of curses and defenses. It felt like hope, and it felt like progress in DADA, a class where learning was a thing of the past.

Still, it simply wasn't possible to keep the DA going, as she would be gone, and most of everyone was heading home to their families. Hermione was going skiing with her parents, something that greatly amused Ron, who had never before heard of Muggles strapping narrow strips of wood to their feet to slide down mountains. Ron was going home to the Burrow, and he extended the invitation to Tempest as well, saying his mother had invited her.

It had left a sour taste in Tempest's mouth.

She loved Ron's family, and it was kind of Molly Weasley to offer, but the woman had made it clear many times that she was not comfortable around Sirius, nor with his guardianship of Tempest. Her offer, though surely not intended in such a way, seemed to suggest that Sirius perhaps wasn't fit company for the holidays.

Tempest arrived early in the Room of Requirement for the last DA meeting before the holidays, and was exceedingly glad she did, because when the lamps burst into light, she saw that Dobby had taken it upon himself to decorate the place for Christmas. It was obviously him, as nobody else would have strung a hundred golden baubles from the ceiling, each showing a picture of Tempest's face, and bearing the message: "HAVE A VERY HAPPY CHRISTMAS!"

It was difficult to decide between wincing or laughing as Tempest took them down and vanished them, but she decided to go and thank Dobby for the effort later in the day.

Luna arrived second after Tempest, wandering in looking dreamy as always. She looked around and at Tempest.

"Mistletoe," she said dreamily, pointing at a large clump of white berries placed over Tempest's head. She slid sideways out from beneath it.

"Good thinking," said Luna very seriously. "It's often infested with nargles."

Angelina, Katie and Alicia arrived then, saving Tempest from asking what nargles were. The three of them were breathless and looked very cold.

"Well," said Angelina dully, pulling off her cloak and throwing it into a corner, "we've replaced you."

Tempest frowned at her.

"You and Fred and George," she said impatiently. "We've got another Seeker!"

"Oh," said Tempest, ignoring the stab of hurt. "Who?"

"Ginny Weasley," said Katie.

Tempest's eyes widened. "Yeah, I know," said Angelina, pulling out her wand and flexing her arm. "She's pretty good, actually. Nothing on you, of course," she said, throwing her a very dirty look, "but as we can't have you..."

Tempest swallowed back a retort.

"The Beaters?" she said instead.

"Andrew Kirke," said Alicia without enthusiasm, "and Jack Sloper. Neither of them are brilliant, but compared with the rest of the idiots who turned up..."

The arrival of Ron, Hermione, and Neville brought this depressing discussion to an end and within five minutes, the room was full enough to prevent her seeing Angelina's reproachful looks.

"Right," she said, calling the room to order, "as this is our last meeting before a three-week break, I thought we could have a bit of fun, revise spells you've learnt, see how well you do."

There were a lot of confused looks thrown about the room.

"So the plan is… Open war. Nothing too damaging to each other please. Last one standing wins."

The room changed instantly, a maze of walls appearing throughout the room, instantly separating all the students gathered. They were waist height, enough for shelter, but easy to leap over for surprise attacks.

The others quickly caught on, and there was a great flurry of activity as the DA spread out throughout the walls, spells flying left and right.

Tempest saw a head bob closer to her from a neighboring wall, and she dove over the divide, twisting to jinx Michael Corner. She blocked a spell from Katie Bell, deflected another from Lee Jordan, and sent a great sweep of wind at them, knocking them over. George appeared around the corner, and sent jets of orange light her way. She blocked the majority, but had to flatten to avoid the last.

A neat _Reducto_ blasted George backward into the padding, and Tempest set off after the rest of the DA.

In the end there was no clear winner, as Hermione, George, Cho, Hannah Abbott, Terry Boot and surprisingly enough Neville, teamed up against Tempest and Ron, while the rest of the DA sat or lay collapsed on the floor, either groaning in pain or frozen in place.

All flushed and laughing sheepishly, the recovered members of the DA began to clear the room in their customary twos and threes. Most people wished Tempest a Happy Christmas as they left. It was greatly cheering. Eventually the only ones left were Tempest, Ron and Hermione, Cho and her friend Marietta.

Hermione seemed in a bit of a hurry; apparently there was a letter she needed to send. Ron lingered. Strangely, he hovered near Tempest with a worried look on his face, and he seemed reluctant to leave until Hermione tugged him away. He went with a final reluctant look, and Marietta left not too far after, until it was just Tempest and Cho left.

"Hey," said Tempest cautiously. The pair of them hadn't spoken properly since Tempest's revelations about Cedric's death.

"Hi," said Cho, and to Tempest's horror, her eyes were very watery.

"Er, what's wrong?"

Cho wiped her eyes hastily on her sleeve. "I'm- sorry," she said thickly. "I suppose… it's just… learning all of this stuff… it makes me… wonder whether… if _he'd_ known it all… he'd still be alive…"

 _Oh._

"He did," said Tempest. _He was better than me._ "He saved me." _If only he had saved himself._ "I was tied up, and he threw me my wand, he distracted Voldemort, he would've gotten away-" _CEDRIC!_ "-but…" _He might be alive, he might be, except you saw the light leave his eyes, and you saw that emptiness-_ "…it's Voldemort," said Tempest heavily. "He kills like breathing."

Cho hiccupped at the sound of Voldemort's name twice, but stared at Tempest without flinching.

" _You_ survived when you were just a baby," she said quietly.

Somehow, Cho managed to make the words sound less like an accusation, and Tempest felt a sudden knot in the back of her throat.

"I did nothing," said Tempest blankly. "I was a baby. My parents died, and I did nothing."

Cho continued to cry, hiccupping with every second breath.

"It's not fair," said Tempest awkwardly, "good people die, we're still here, and it doesn't make sense… but we could do better. In their name."

Cho hiccupped again. "Thanks," she said shakily. "It's nice of you… I didn't mean to get all upset like this…"

"It's fine," said Tempest. "Look, get back to your dorm, and… well, have a cup of tea, all right?"

Cho did leave, and Tempest finally allowed herself to slump, left alone in the room. The cheerfulness had been sucked right out of her, as though a rather weak dementor had passed by. _Cedric._

Tempest exited the Room of Requirement, only to see George, who Tempest had thought would be off with Fred, plotting something for the end of year prank.

"Still here?" she said, "how nice of you to wait."

George shrugged. "I saw that Chang girl leave," he said, "what'd you do that made her cry?"

"I didn't do anything," protested Tempest. She sighed. "We talked a bit about Cedric."

"Oh," said George, frowning. "Not a great conversation?"

"It wasn't exactly uplifting, no."

It was an uncommonly serious subject for them to discuss, and George was clearly uncomfortable. Tempest could see George continuing to glance at her from the corner of her eye,

"So this isn't the best of introductions, but there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about for a while."

"Yeah?" said Tempest. She hoped it wasn't about the Triwizard gold. She thought she had dodged that bullet, but perhaps George had been stewing for all this time.

"I like you, Tempest," said George.

Tempest raised her eyebrows. "That's reassuring," she said. "One might wonder why you stick around, if not."

"No," said George with a laugh. "I like you."

"And now you're repeating things," said Tempest, with a degree of concern. "I like you too George, what's going on?"

They were walking down the stairs from the seventh floor, and at that time of the evening, the stairs were empty, and the portraits around the walls were either empty or populated with snoring witches and wizards.

"Tempest, are you being thick on purpose?" said George.

Tempest grimaced. "Yeah." Her mouth had gone very dry all of a sudden.

"Tempest, I'm asking if you'd want to go out with me."

"Gosh."

It made a lot of sense. George's strange paranoia about her relationship with Malfoy, odd things he had done in the past that she had merely brushed off. It simply wasn't something she had ever considered before.

"You know, I've never been attracted to Fred," said Tempest.

George made a face. "Could we please not talk about my brother right now?"

Tempest laughed nervously. "My point was, that it's strange how similar the pair of you are, and how separate you are at the same time. I'd never consider going out with Fred, for instance."

"Right," said George cautiously. "And me?"

Tempest sighed impatiently. "Well for Merlin's sake, I'm considering it now, aren't I?"

George's smile was sudden and as brilliant as the sun emerging above the mountains. "You are?"

"Of course I am, you just asked me," said Tempest exasperated, unexpected warmth suffusing her face. "It's just… why would you want to go out with me?"

George ogled at her, like her question had been outrageous. "Tempest, you're _brilliant_." Tempest promptly went red. "I look at you sometimes, when we're talking, and it blows my mind that you can fit all of your… youness, into, er, _you._ You're goddamn funny; you make me laugh, _all_ the time. I... I like _you_."

It was endearing, to a painful degree, and Tempest felt hot, flustered, flattered, confused, and slightly nauseous.

"You're really fit too, if that helps," he added.

George's neck had gone red, the flush creeping up his face, and Tempest thought that _this_ might have been the most ridiculous conversation of her life, even more than the previous record held, not two weeks ago, again by one George Weasley.

"Gosh," she said. "Thanks." A pause. "You're good looking. I've always thought so. A real… good face. Congratulations."

George grinned, falling back into familiar rhythms. "So Fred's got a real good face?"

Tempest scowled up at George's smirking face, and shoved an elbow in his side. "I thought we didn't want to be talking about him," she said.

"He's all for it, by the way," said George, suddenly examining the hem of his sleeve. "Ron is too."

" _What?_ "

"Yeah… I kind of said I didn't want to make things weird by asking you, but if he did feel weird about it, he could go stuff his head in a pit of fire salamanders."

"For Merlin's sake- so you told multiple people about this before me? What if I'd said no?"

"Are you saying no?"

"Well, no-"

"So yes?"

"No, I mean yes- I mean-"

George whooped. The occupied paintings nearby hissed their displeasure, but uncaring, he swung Tempest around, and clutched her hand, placing a smacker of a kiss on the back.

"You're a bit of an idiot, you know that?"

But Tempest was trying, and failing, to keep the grin off her face.

They tripped into the common room not long after, strangely yet comfortably linked through an arm and a shoulder. Nearly everybody else had gone to bed, while Ron and Hermione were in the best seats by the fire. Hermione was writing a very long letter; she had already filled half a roll of parchment, which was dangling from the edge of the table. Ron was lying on the hearthrug, trying to finish his Transfiguration homework.

The pair of them looked up as Tempest and George entered. They quickly detached, and George gave Ron and eyebrow waggle, which made Tempest shove him a bit. He went off to bed with a final parting grin. Tempest made her way over to the fire and sat on the ground beside Ron.

"Good talk?" Hermione asked innocently, peering at her over the tip of her quill.

Ron groaned, and buried his face in his work.

Tempest glared at them. "So you knew as well?" She said, directing the words to Hermione.

"It was pretty obvious," said Hermione simply. "And Ron wasn't too good at keeping a secret either."

Ron quickly raised his head. "Well I couldn't talk to anyone else about it! George threatened me with gnomes in my bed if I told you, Tempest. But I _was_ going to warn you today, only Hermione dragged me off!"

Tempest narrowed her eyes at Hermione.

"I thought you could handle yourself," said Hermione quickly. "But you two looked pretty happy just now."

Tempest deflated. She also couldn't stop the smile from creeping back over her face. Ron saw it, and gagged. "Do whatever you like," he said, "but for Merlin's sake, mate, please don't talk to me about it."

"I wouldn't," reassured Tempest. "It's just as weird for me."

"You do like him though, don't you?" asked Hermione, giving Tempest a searching look.

"Of course I like him," said Tempest, "I wouldn't have said yes to going out with him if I didn't… it was just… very sudden. It had never crossed my mind. Me… and him." She fidgeted.

"Well have you kissed?" asked Hermione briskly.

Tempest went bright red. Ron groaned and rolled about on the floor, parchment crumpling beneath his elbows. "What did I _just_ say?"

Tempest swatted at him, then swatted at Hermione. "We'll keep those things to ourselves, thanks very much," she said empathetically. "Let's not talk about this." She looked at Hermione's letter, so long now that beginning to resemble a manuscript. "Who's that to?"

Ron perked back up at the safer topic and tried to read the bit of parchment that was trailing on the floor. Hermione hitched it up out of sight.

"Viktor."

" _Krum_?"

"How many other Viktors do we know?"

Ron said nothing, but looked disgruntled. They fell into silence for about twenty minutes, Ron finishing his Transfiguration essay with many snorts of impatience and crossings-out, Hermione writing steadily to the very end of the parchment, rolling it up carefully and sealing it, and Tempest staring into the fire.

Nyx had wandered in at some point, and curled up next to Tempest, accepting the slow, rhythmic strokes down from her ears to tail with feline grace. She wondered what Sirius would make of these new developments. He had met George… twice, she thought. The first time had been at the Third Task, when he had been Padfoot. She had seen them sitting together on the stands. The second time was for her birthday at Grimmauld Place. Try as she might, she couldn't recall whether the pair of them had spoken at all.

"Well, 'night," said Hermione finally. Yawning widely, she set off up the girls' staircase.

"What does she see in Krum?" Ron demanded as soon as she was out of earshot.

"Clearly something," said Tempest. "I wouldn't know."

"But he's a grouchy git, isn't he?" said Ron, sounding aggravated.

"He could be different around Hermione," she offered, "but bit grouchy, yeah," she conceded. She scooped up a purring Nyx into her arms, and stood. "Night then."

Ron paused. "About George," he began, his face scrunching up a bit.

"You are all right with this, aren't you?" said Tempest hurriedly. "Because if you aren't, I don't need to go out with him. I'd tell him right now-"

"Nah, that's not what I was going to say," said Ron awkwardly. "If you're both happy, I'm fine with… it. He's liked you for ages, so it's not like I'm surprised or anything… If you were going to go out with someone…"

"You're my best mate," said Tempest. "If you weren't okay with it, your opinion matters to me."

Ron gave an awkward smile. "Mate, if you're happy, I'm happy, yeah?"

Tempest grinned at him. "Yeah." She took several steps forward, shifted Nyx to one arm, and hugged Ron tight. "I love you," she said, muffled into his shoulder. He _ommphned_ loudly, but Tempest could feel his smile in return.

Tempest wasn't thinking of much when she went to bed. It had been an eventful day, true enough, but she was content for once, and her mind drifted. She could feel Nyx's thrumming presence at the bend of her knees through the blanket. For the first time in her life, she was in a relationship. Admittedly it was a new and uncertain one, but it was with George, who she certainly got along with. She already knew and liked all his family, and it was simply flattering to know that someone had liked her _that_ much…

Her previously rather unoccupied mind began branch out. She hoped Sirius was doing well, halfway across Great Britain, perhaps he'd be in bed now, or perhaps he would still be up, nursing a glass of whiskey. If only he wouldn't drink so much… he hadn't when she was around, only recently his clothes smelt of little else…

She wondered how Remus was holding up, in some unknown part of the country. Did he have friends in the community of werewolves? Surely he must, in order to stick around and try and sway opinions amongst them. He didn't look well when she had last seen him, but granted, it had been the full moon… she still hadn't made much progress on the Wolfsbane potion, and it was quickly becoming her greatest failing… she hadn't had much time recently either, but she should have made time…

Hermione gave a little snore from beyond Tempest's bed. An owl hooted out in the night.

Tempest opened her eyes.

It was the graveyard, always the graveyard. Cedric Diggory was sat on top of Tom Riddle Senior's cracked headstone, head tilted to the side. "You survived," he said accusingly, "not very fair, is it?"

"I told Cho that," said Tempest, rather dumbly.

"I had so much more to live for," said Cedric, his head tilted down condescendingly toward Tempest. "I would've gone to work in the Ministry, my dad was so proud of me. Who's proud of _you?_ "

Tempest swallowed. "That's really quite uncalled for, I've… I've got my own qualities."

Cedric looked down at the ground beneath him. A stiff wind picked up, and sent his robes flapping out in sheets of black and yellow cloth. Something was approaching them from behind. Distantly, there was the sound of screaming. Cedric looked at Tempest. "Are you doing better?"

A man's voice sounded, high and cold.

And Cedric began to topple.

Tempest lunged forward, her arms outstretched. Cedric fell, slowly, irrevocably.

 _CEDRIC!_

The world lit in green.

And the dream changed.

She was on her belly, smooth, powerful and flexible. She was gliding between shining metal bars, across dark, cold stone… She was flat against the floor, sliding along on her belly… it was dark, yet she could see objects around her shimmering in a strange vibrant colour… she was turning her head… At first glance, the corridor was empty… but now… a man was sitting on the floor ahead, his chin drooping onto his chest, his outline gleaming in the dark…

Tempest put out her tongue… she tasted the man's scent on the air… he was alive but drowsing… sitting in front of a door at the end of a corridor…

Tempest longed to bite the man… but no… surely she did not… Even as Buck she had little urge to feast on flesh… the impulse was strange… foreign…

But the man was stirring… a silvery cloak fell from his legs as he jumped to his feet; and Tempest saw his vibrant, blurred outline towering above her, saw a wand withdrawn from a belt… she had no choice…

 _No_

She reared high from the floor and struck once, twice- _NO_

her fangs were covered in blood, it gushed down her throat, and beneath her, she could feel ribs splinter, a yell of pain _No get out getout not real leavehimalone leave me alone_

the man was yelling in pain but he fell silent and now for the kill _GET OUT_

Her face was rent in two and she tore herself away from the man, away from the bed, and she was falling, falling, until she hit the ground and her eyes flew open.

" _Tempest!_ "

Above her stood Hermione, looking extremely frightened. A red hot brand was being pressed to her face, and Tempest fought her way to her feet, clutching the side of her bed. Around her were her twisted bedclothes and the drapes that had hung from her bed, collapsed in a pile on the floor-

Nyx yowled and leapt away as Tempest staggered, holding her head. The pain was blinding, and she could not _think-_

"She's really ill," said a scared voice, "should we call someone?"

Breathing heavily, Tempest reached out and clutched at Hermione, dragging her closer. "Ron," she gasped. "Fred, George, their dad's been attacked."

"What?" said Hermione, eyes wide with fright.

"Mr Weasley, I need, I need to talk to-"

The pain in her face was subsiding slightly now, though she was sweating a cold clammy sweat now, but shivering feverishly at the same time. Chills coursed through her. There were hurried footsteps up the stairs, and Lavender came in, followed immediately by Minnie, wearing a tartan dressing gown, glasses perched lopsidedly on her nose.

She shoved Lavender aside, and rushed to Tempest's side, "Tempest, what is it? What's wrong?"

"Minnie," said Tempest desperately, releasing Hermione to clutch at Minnie's arms instead, "take me seriously, _right now._ Mr Weasley has been attacked by a snake, I think Nagini- he's badly hurt-"

Minnie was looked at Tempest with a horrified expression on her face. It was gone in a moment though; she nodded once. "Tell me the details on the way. With me, Tempest, put on your dressing gown."

Tempest threw it on, not bothering to lace it up, and into her socks and shoes, she grabbed her wand and went out of the room with Minnie.

"We're going to see the headmaster," said Minnie as soon as they were down the stairs, the pair of them walking very quickly. "Tell me."

"It was a dream," said Tempest, "I know it sounds foolish, but it was _real,_ Mr Weasley was on guard at the Department of Mysteries, and I was Nagini- I came across him and attacked- Minnie it was unlike any other- I know it was real."

"I believe you," said Minnie, very simply. She was very pale. "Here."

They had arrived at the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

"Fizzing Whizbee," said Minnie.

The gargoyle sprang to life and leapt aside; they ascended on the moving spiral staircase until they reached a highly polished oak door with the brass knocker shaped like a griffin. Though it was now well past midnight, there were voices coming from inside the room, what sounded to be a great crowd.

Minnie rapped three times with the griffin knocker, and the voices ceased abruptly as though someone had switched them all off. The door opened of its own accord and Minnie led Tempest in.

The room was in half darkness; the strange silver instruments standing on tables were silent and still rather than whirring and emitting puffs of smoke as they usually did. The portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses covering the walls were all snoozing in their frames. Behind the door, Fawkes dozed on his perch, with his head beneath his wing.

"Oh, it's you, Professor McGonagall... and... _ah._ "

Dumbledore was sitting in a high-backed chair behind his desk; he leaned forward into the pool of candlelight illuminating the papers laid out before him. He was wearing a magnificent purple-and-gold embroidered dressing gown over a nightshirt, but seemed wide-awake, his penetrating light-blue eyes fixed intently upon Minnie.

"Professor Dumbledore, Tempest has had a... well, a… vision," said Minnie. "She says that Arthur has been attacked by that snake of You-Know-Who's."

The words seemed to reverberate in the air after she had said them. There was a tense pause in which Dumbledore leaned back and stared meditatively at the ceiling. Tempest resisted the urge to fidget. Mr Weasley… she could still feel his blood thick and hot in her throat- she tried not to gag.

"How did you see this?" Dumbledore asked quietly, not looking at Tempest.

"I don't know," said Tempest, "I- I don't know. I do know it's real though, and-"

"You misunderstand me," said Dumbledore, still in the same calm tone. "I mean... can you remember- er- where you were positioned as you watched this attack happen? Were you perhaps standing beside the victim, or else looking down on the scene from above?"

Tempest's jaw snapped shut. "I was the snake," she said tightly. "I attacked him, I was in the snake's perspective, could we please-"

Dumbledore, who was now looking at Minnie, said in a new and sharper voice, "Is Arthur seriously injured?"

" _Yes,_ " bit out Tempest. She could remember the _crunch_ of bones giving way beneath her, she could hear yells, weakening with every breath- and it was she who had done this- could Dumbledore not stand to look at her because he could see the snake still?

Dumbledore stood up so quickly that his chair skidded back, and addressed one of the old portraits hanging very near the ceiling.

"Everard?" he said sharply. "And you too, Dilys!"

A sallow-faced wizard with short, black bangs and an elderly witch with long silver ringlets in the frame beside him, both of whom seemed to have been in the deepest of sleeps, opened their eyes immediately.

"You were listening?" said Dumbledore.

The wizard nodded, the witch said, "Naturally."

"The man has red hair and glasses," said Dumbledore. "Everard, you will need to raise the alarm, make sure he is found by the right people-"

Both nodded and moved sideways out of their frames, and neither reappeared. Tempest noticed that many of the other headmasters and mistresses on the walls, though snoring and drooling, were sneaking peeks at her under their eyelids.

"Everard and Dilys were two of Hogwarts's most celebrated Heads," Dumbledore said, now sweeping around Tempest and Minnie and approaching Fawkes. "Their renown is such that both have portraits hanging in other important Wizarding institutions. As they are free to move between their own portraits they can tell us what may be happening elsewhere... Please do sit down; Everard and Dilys may not be back for several minutes... Professor McGonagall, if you could draw up extra chairs..."

Minnie materialized two chairs straight-backed and wooden, one of which Tempest sat in, fairly vibrating with nerves.

Dumbledore was now stroking Fawkes's plumed golden head with one finger. The phoenix awoke immediately. He stretched his beautiful head high and observed Dumbledore through bright, dark eyes.

"We will need," said Dumbledore very quietly to the bird, "a warning."

There was a flash of fire and the phoenix had gone.

Dumbledore now swooped down upon one of the fragile silver instruments whose function was a mystery, carried it over to his desk, sat down facing them again, and tapped it gently with the tip of his wand.

The instrument tinkled into life at once with rhythmic clinking noises. Tiny puffs of pale green smoke issued from the minuscule silver tube at the top. Dumbledore watched the smoke closely, his brow furrowed, and after a few seconds, the tiny puffs became a steady stream of smoke that thickened and coiled in the air… A serpent's head grew out of the end of it, opening its mouth wide.

"Naturally, naturally," murmured Dumbledore apparently to himself, still observing the stream of smoke without the slightest sign of surprise. "But in essence divided?"

The smoke serpent split itself instantly into two snakes, both coiling and undulating in the dark air. With a look of grim satisfaction Dumbledore gave the instrument another gentle tap with his wand: The clinking noise slowed and died, and the smoke serpents grew faint, became a formless haze, and vanished.

Dumbledore replaced the instrument upon its spindly little table; Tempest saw many of the old headmasters in the portraits follow him with their eyes, then, realizing that she was watching them, hastily pretended to be sleeping again.

"Excuse me," said Tempest after quite long enough had passed, "shouldn't we tell Ron? George? Fred? Ginny?"

Dumbledore looked very patiently at the space beside Tempest's head. "As soon as we have news of their father," he said.

Minnie took Tempest's hand after a moment or two, giving it a reassuring squeeze. She must have risen quickly. Her hair was loose around her face, and she looked quite uncollected. Tempest felt a tug in her chest.

There was a shout from the top of the wall to their right; the wizard called Everard had reappeared in his portrait, panting slightly.

"Dumbledore!"

"What news?" said Dumbledore at once.

"I yelled until someone came running," said the wizard, who was mopping his brow on the curtain behind him, "said I'd heard something moving downstairs- they weren't sure whether to believe me but went down to check- you know there are no portraits down there to watch from. Anyway, they carried him up a few minutes later. He doesn't look good, he's covered in blood, I ran along to Elfrida Cragg's portrait to get a good view as they left-"

"Good," said Dumbledore as Tempest stiffened in her chair, "I take it Dilys will have seen him arrive, then-"

And moments later, the silver-ringletted witch had reappeared in her picture too; she sank, coughing, into her armchair and said, "Yes, they've taken him to St. Mungo's, Dumbledore... They carried him past under my portrait... He looks bad..."

"Thank you," said Dumbledore. He looked around at Minnie. "Now, Minerva, I need you to go and wake the Weasley children."

"Of course..." Minnie released Tempest's hand, got up and moved swiftly to the door. "And Dumbledore- what about Molly?" she asked, pausing at the door.

"That will be a job for Fawkes when he has finished keeping a lookout for anybody approaching," said Dumbledore. "But she may already know... that excellent clock of hers…"

But it was late. Mrs Weasley was probably asleep, and if Mr Weasley died before she was even informed…

Left alone together, Dumbledore ignored Tempest. He was rummaging in a cupboard behind her, and emerged carrying a blackened old kettle. He placed it carefully upon his desk, raised his wand and transformed it into a portkey.

Dumbledore marched over to another portrait, this time of a clever-looking wizard with a pointed beard, who had been painted wearing the Slytherin colors of green and silver and was apparently sleeping so deeply that he could not hear Dumbledore's voice when he attempted to rouse him.

"Phineas. _Phineas._ "

And now the subjects of the portraits lining the room were no longer pretending to be asleep; they were shifting around in their frames, the better to watch what was happening. When the wizard continued to feign sleep, some of them shouted his name too.

"Phineas! _Phineas_! PHINEAS!"

He could not pretend any longer; he gave a theatrical jerk and opened his eyes wide. "Did someone call?" Tempest gritted her teeth.

"I need you to visit your other portrait again, Phineas," said Dumbledore. "I've got another message."

"Visit my other portrait?" said Phineas in a reedy voice, giving a long, fake yawn (his eyes traveling around the room and focusing upon Tempest. A flash of familiarity struck her. His handsome grey eyes, and his _voice._ ) "Oh no, Dumbledore, I am too tired tonight…"

The walls of portraits broke into a storm of protest.

"Insubordination, sir!" roared a corpulent, red-nosed wizard, brandishing his fists. "Dereliction of duty!"

"We are honor-bound to give service to the present Headmaster of Hogwarts!" cried a frail-looking old wizard whom Tempest recognized as Dumbledore's predecessor, Armando Dippet. "Shame on you, Phineas!"

"Phineas Black," said Tempest quietly. Somehow her voice was audible above the din. The other portraits fell silent.

" _Lord_ Phineas Nigellus Black," corrected the wizard, straitening his robes primly, "and _you're_ Tempestas Potter, the half-blood my descendent has seen fit to drag into my home-"

"It's our home now, actually," said Tempest coolly.

Phineas huffed in annoyance. "You see Dumbledore? They may well have destroyed my picture by now, like they've done most of the family-"

"We haven't," interrupted Tempest. "Shunted it off into the attic though, yes-"

"Why you little-"

"Enough Phineas," said Dumbledore quietly, yet with an underlying tone of power that made Phineas shut up immediately. "You are to give Sirius the message that Arthur Weasley has been gravely injured and that his wife, children, and Tempest Potter will be arriving at his house shortly. Do you understand?"

Tempest's heart, entirely out of her control, leapt.

"Arthur Weasley, injured, wife and children and Tempest Potter coming to stay," recited Phineas in a bored voice. "Yes, yes... very well…" He gave Tempest a final disgruntled look before he sloped away into the frame of the portrait and disappeared from view at the very moment that the study door opened again.

Ron, Fred, George, and Ginny were ushered inside by Minnie, all four of them looking disheveled and shocked, still in their night things.

George crossed instantly to Tempest's side. "What's happening?" he asked urgently, "Professor McGonagall said you saw dad get attacked-"

"Your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix," said Dumbledore before Tempest could speak. "He has been taken to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am sending you back to Sirius's house, which is much more convenient for the hospital than the Burrow. You will meet your mother there."

Ginny looked very frightened.

"How're we going?" asked Fred, looking shaken. "Floo powder?"

"No," said Dumbledore, "Floo powder is not safe at the moment, the Network is being watched. You will be taking a Portkey." He indicated the old kettle lying innocently on his desk. "We are just waiting for Phineas Nigellus to report back... I wish to be sure that the coast is clear before sending you-"

There was a flash of flame in the very middle of the office leaving behind a single golden feather that floated gently to the floor.

"It is Fawkes's warning," said Dumbledore, catching the feather as it fell. "She must know you're out of your beds... Minerva, go and head her off- tell her any story-"

Minnie was gone in a swish of tartan.

"He says he'll be delighted," said a bored voice behind Dumbledore; Phineas had reappeared in front of his Slytherin banner. "Positively beaming with joy- he actually tried to embrace the frame I was in… My great-great-grandson has always had odd taste in houseguests..."

"Come here, then," Dumbledore said to Tempest and the Weasleys. "And quickly, before anyone else joins us..."

Tempest and the others gathered around Dumbledore's desk. She stood next to George, who glanced down at her pensively. Tempest swallowed hard.

"You have all used a Portkey before?" asked Dumbledore, and they nodded, each reaching out to touch some part of the blackened kettle. "Good. On the count of three then... one... two..."

It happened in a fraction of a second: in the infinitesimal pause before Dumbledore said "three," Tempest looked up at him- they were very close together, he was opposite her- and Dumbledore's clear blue gaze moved from the Portkey to Tempest's face.

At once, her scar burned white-hot, as though the old wound had burst open again- and unbidden, unwanted, but terrifyingly strong, there rose within Tempest a hatred so powerful she felt, for that instant, that she would like nothing better than to strike- tear the man before her to pieces-

"… _three._ "

She was tugged forwards by the portkey, the ground vanished from beneath her feet, her hand was glued to the kettle; she was banging into the others as all sped forward in a swirl of colors and a rush of wind, the kettle pulling them onward and then-

Home.


	9. An Interlude

**_Chapter Nine-_**

"You are all right?" asked Sirius, inspecting Tempest head to toe.

"Merlin, I'm not the one whose dad is in St Mungo's," said Tempest with a grimace. She tapped the counter impatiently, waiting for the kettle to boil. A story above, the Weasleys were camped out in the first floor living room, waiting for news.

"Even so," said Sirius, running a hand through his messy hair. He waved his wand and four mugs floated out of a cupboard and arranged themselves neatly on the counter beside Tempest. "It can't have been easy, being the one to see it."

"They blame me," said Tempest quietly.

"No," said Sirius fiercely.

Tempest shook her head. "You should have seen them when I was explaining what I saw." The kettle whistled, and she plucked it from the stove, a flick of her fingers sending tea bags into each cup. "I mean… maybe they don't blame me… but I expect they're sick of it being me. The same thing happened with Ginny in second year. Voldemort's return. Now this. It's always me."

"That's the universe being a sadistic bastard," said Sirius, adding milk just a little too vigorously to each mug, sloshing a good amount out onto the table, which he then vanished impatiently. "I know they're going through a tough time right now, but if they're blaming you for it-I'll set them straight."

"Leave it," said Tempest roughly. "It doesn't matter."

It would just have been nice, if one of them could have met her eyes.

"Here," muttered Tempest, upstairs and floating the mugs of tea around to the Weasleys.

Grimmauld Place had _whacked_ into place around Tempest after Dumbledore's portkey, and the Weasleys had been less than pleased that Sirius would not let them go to St Mungo's immediately.

This reared its head as soon as Sirius entered the room behind Tempest.

Fred drained his tea in three massive wincing gulps and stood. "There," he said, "we've had a cup of tea, we're going now. Ginny, come on."

"Sit back down," said Sirius, "you still haven't received any word from your mother. To go rushing off now would be highly suspicious!. You'd be putting the Order at risk-"

"We don't care about the damn Order!" shouted George, getting to his feet as well. "It's our dad dying we're talking about, while we're sitting here with fucking _tea-_ "

"Your father knew what he was getting into, and he won't thank you for messing things up for the Order!" said Sirius angrily, "this is how it is- this is why you're not in the Order- you don't understand- sometimes there are things worth dying for!"

"Easy for you to say, stuck here!" bellowed George, "I don't see you risking your neck!"

The little color in Sirus's face drained from it.

Tempest grew very still, and the last mug she had been hovering dropped from the air, splitting with a crack. Brown liquid quickly spilled across the wood floor.

"George," she said in a shaking voice, " _sit down._ "

George looked at her, looked at Sirius, looked at the split tea, and sat, a mutinous expression on his face. Sirius, who for a moment had looked like he would have quite liked to hit George, turned and left the room without a word.

Her lips pressed tightly together, Tempest vanished the mug and tea, just as Kreacher came slouching into the room. In the tense quiet, his muttering voice was clearly audible.

"Here they are again, the half-blood and blood traitors. The shame of it, being served in the House of Black, look at them, spreading their filth… is it true that their father's dying-"

"GET OUT!" roared Tempest, the night's frustrations suddenly coming to a head.

Kreacher gave her a malevolent stare as he left, and Tempest had to get out of there as well.

She went upstairs, the memory of the snake fresh in her mind. The more she thought about it, the more she felt uncertain. It was Voldemort's snake Nagini, she was certain of it. But Tempest had never been inside her mind before. In the past, whenever she had witnessed one of Voldemort's crimes… when he was killing the muggle Frank Bryce, she had been there as a bystander, it had never been her who lifted the wand. When Voldemort was torturing Pettigrew, she had been seated on an owl… it had never been from her perspective.

…and when she had told herself _no_ in the dream… the snake had hesitated. It had stopped. But instinct had won over again and she had attacked, attacked and attacked…

That portrait Dumbledore had sent to find Mr Weasley hadn't mentioned seeing a snake.

She had never become a snake before… she was a _wolf,_ she was _Buck_ … but she could speak to snakes. She had felt the _crack_ of Mr Weasley's bones beneath her body, and just before… not more than fifteen minutes ago, she had felt the need to attack Dumbledore… a need to strike and tear and _destroy…_

Tempest came back to herself. She was standing halfway up the stairs to the third floor, clutching at the bannister for support.

She gritted her teeth and continued on upwards.

Sirius found her seated on the floor outside her bedroom door not long after.

"A letter came from Molly," he said; lowering himself with a groan to sit beside Tempest, head resting against the wall. "The others have it now. It said Arthur's still alive, and she's heading to the hospital to see him."

Tempest closed her eyes. "Thank Merlin." She opened them again. " _Still_ alive?"

She could feel Sirius's nod. "It sounds touch and go at the moment. The letter told them to stay put, so they have settled in a bit… I offered to put them in the spare rooms, but they'll be sitting up instead."

Tempest turned her head to look at Sirius's carefully blank face. "About what was said just before-"

"Don't worry about it," sighed Sirius. "It's the truth, isn't it? I'm not exactly doing much here, am I?"

Tempest leaned her head against Sirius's shoulder. The smell of alcohol grew stronger. "You would," she said. "You're not a malinger, Sirius… and if it wasn't for Dumbledore's orders, you'd be out there just the same. Forgive a girl for being glad you're _not…_ but you wouldn't be the person you are if you were content just sitting around."

Sirius said nothing, and Tempest shut her mouth and left it at that.

It wasn't until early morning, roughly ten past five that the wards flashed, and they heard the front door open. Sirius and Tempest were on their feet almost instantly and heading down the stairs to meet the newcomers.

Mrs Weasley's voice floated up toward them, along with the sounds of scrambling bodies rushing toward her for news.

They all arrived in the front hall at roughly the same time. Mrs Weasley was very pale, but she gave them all a wan smile.

"He's going to be all right," she said, her voice weak with tiredness. "He's sleeping. We can all go and see him later. Bill's sitting with him now, he's going to take the morning off work."

Fred fell back a step and held his hands over his face. George and Ginny walked swiftly over to their mother and hugged her. Ron gave a very shaky laugh and went over to join them.

"Breakfast!" announced Sirius, relief clear in his voice. He clapped Tempest on the back and began to look about. "Where's that accursed house-elf? Kreacher! KREACHER!"

But Kreacher, likely off sulking somewhere, did not answer the summons.

"Oh forget it then," muttered Sirius, counting the people in front of him. "So it's breakfast for- let's see- seven… Bacon and eggs, I think, and more tea, and toast-"

Tempest followed him quickly to help. She was desperately relieved, but unwilling to intrude upon the Weasley family's happiness. She hoped Mrs Weasley wouldn't ask her about her vision. But she had just summoned the rashers of bacon and eggs and barely begun to fish pans from the drawers before Mrs Weasley had come up to her and enfolded her in a hug.

"I don't know what would have happened if it hadn't been for you, Tempest," she said in a muffled voice. "They might not have found Arthur for hours, and then it would have been too late, but thanks to you he's alive, and Dumbledore's been able to think up a good cover story for Arthur being where he was, you've not idea what trouble he would have been in otherwise, look at poor Sturgis…"

Tempest could barely bear the gratitude, but thankfully she had only just nervously brought her hands up to return the embrace, when Mrs Weasley released her to thank Sirius for looking after her children through the night. Sirius said they were welcome to stay for as long as Mr Weasley was in hospital.

"Oh Sirius, I'm so grateful… they think he'll be there a little while and it would be wonderful to be nearer… of course, that might mean we're here for Christmas…"

"That's fine," said Sirius, with such obvious sincerity that Mrs Weasley beamed at him, threw on an apron, and began to help with breakfast.

Sirius sidled over to Tempest while oiling a pan, and he whispered to her, "Actually, that was something I was going to bring up- about Christmas-"

But then George had stepped up, and looking Sirius right in the eye, he stuck out a hand. "I wanted to apologize for before. I was out of line, and you've done a lot for us, thank you."

Sirius was taken aback for a moment, but then he clasped George's hand gamely, and they shook. "You were stressed, completely understandable."

George slipped in to stand beside Tempest, and giving her a small smile, began cracking eggs over the pan.

Breakfast was a loud, happy affair. Sirius was reveling in the company, playing an enthusiastic host. Tempest followed suit, clearing the dust from the kitchen that Kreacher had pointedly left behind, summoning candelabras and setting them alight, so that the long table was lit with dancing flames. Mrs Weasley and George served up delightfully brown rashers of bacon, eggs both sunny and solid through, toast by the rack, and they all settled down around their plates, chattering loudly.

It was when Tempest went to get a mug for herself that she noticed a problem.

"Sirius?" she called, still staring into the glaringly empty cupboard where the cups and mugs were meant to live, "where did all the cups go?"

Sirius popped up beside her looking sheepish. "Ah," he said, "er… several broke."

Tempest raised her eyebrows. She had vanished one earlier, and there were five on the table for the Weasleys, but she was sure they had many, many more. How many had Sirius broken? With a sigh, she pulled open another cupboard, fishing down one of Sirius's scotch glasses, and giving him a stern look, poured herself a cup of tea, eschewing the milk as she usually did.

Tempest had just sat back down when the wards pinged again, and above the chatter, she heard a strange thumping at the front door. Tempest looked over at Sirius, who shrugged. Unnoticed by the rest of the table, they got up together, exited the kitchen, and ran up the steps.

Wands at the ready, Sirius flung open the door.

"Minnie!"

Minnie stood on the front step looking rather rumpled. The reason for her banging was clear. While Tempest's trunk was floating behind her, her arms were very busy trying to contain a squirming Nyx, She must have had to kick at the door, and as soon as she saw Tempest, she released the cat. Nyx gave an annoyed hiss, jumped down onto the floor and scampered out of sight down the hall.

"Come in, come in," said Sirius, ushering Minnie in and grabbing Tempest's trunk from the air. "We weren't expecting you."

"No well, I thought I'd stop by quickly, I can't stay," said Minnie briskly, "the Weasley children are having their trunks sent on, but I thought I'd bring Tempest's things personally, in case they found anything incriminating-"

Here Minnie gave Tempest a significant look, and Tempest flushed. It hadn't occurred to her that the Ministry might go through her things. She had warded her trunk, but that would be nothing for a Ministry curse breaker.

"Thanks," said Tempest, "stay for a cup of tea at least?"

Minnie shook her head, "I must hurry back- is that _alcohol_?"

Tempest looked down at the glass she was holding, and gulped. "It's just tea, I swear-" Minnie was looking accusingly at Sirius. "We ran out of cups so I'm just using this one- here-" she thrust the glass beneath Minnie's nose as proof.

Minnie relaxed, but her gaze was still steely when it was fixed on Sirius. "Hurmph," she said, "watch yourself."

"What did I do?" protested Sirius.

Laughing, Tempest closed the door behind Minnie, and leant back against the frame.

Sirius sighed heavily. "I suppose I'm still on trial then," he said, brightening. "Which leads me to what I wanted to say earlier, regarding Christmas-"

But he was interrupted by George, who clattered up the steps and looked at them. "I was wondering where you had got to," he said, with a yawn, "anything important?"

"Minnie was dropping off my stuff," said Tempest, "she said your trunks would be coming on later."

"Right," said George, rubbing at the back of his head and yawning again. "Sorry… exhausted is all."

"Well you've been up all night," said Tempest a bit awkwardly. She looked carefully at George. Before, when they had been standing close together in Dumbledore's office, she had felt the unaccountable urge to attack. For a moment then, she had felt like the snake again…

Tempest put the thought from her mind, and went about directing the Weasleys to the spare rooms. Fred and George went in one, Ron and Ginny in another, and Mrs Weasley on the same floor. Sirius was downstairs, puttering about, and Tempest sat in her own room. Nyx had been waiting for her, already having claimed her pillow as a resting spot, and Tempest hadn't the heart to shoo her off.

Instead she sat on the edge of her bed and stared off at the wall opposite her. She didn't feel like a snake- she looked into one of the picture frames on her dresser, and saw herself reflected in the glass- she didn't _look_ like a snake.

Tempest considered telling someone. Should she speak to Sirius? Minnie knew… Dumbledore knew… but they weren't around for a chat, and odds were, Dumbledore wouldn't even properly speak to her… a thrill of horror coursed through her. If Dumbledore had distanced himself from her, it was clearly for a reason, and if _he,_ the only wizard that Voldemort had ever feared, was cautious of her…

Any thought that Tempest had of seeking out Sirius to speak to him quickly fled her mind.

Why would Dumbledore have sent her here then? He had sent her off with the Weasley children, who were equally in danger, back to Sirius, who did not know that she had been the snake. He hadn't needed to send her back, grateful as she was… she did not need to go and see Mr Weasley in hospital…

Unless the whole point was to move her away from Hogwarts, away to Grimmauld Place where she could be contained.

Tempest's heart was beating very, very fast.

Perhaps Dumbledore thought a house with fewer people in it would be a more acceptable place to house someone as volatile as she was. Perhaps he had weighed the risk between the entirety of Hogwarts and the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place, and cut his costs.

Or perhaps he was being kind.

If those terrible snakeish urges Tempest had were a product of the link between her and Voldemort, and even Hogwarts' wards couldn't keep him out, there was no other option. She would have to be contained. Locked away.

12 Grimmauld Place was probably the best cell Tempest could imagine, but she'd rather be in hell, if she was channeling Voldemort.

Tempest let her eyes wander across the room. Her possessions were scattered about the place. There were books she had been reading, records all slotted in on a rack, piled against her desk. The walls were covered in posters. The bedspread she sat on was a checkered black and silver, colours she had picked out with Sirius when redecorating the house. Pictures stood on her dresser, the tiny people inside smiling merrily.

Her trunk stood at the door, not yet unpacked.

Nyx continued to doze on Tempest's pillow, and she stretched out an arm to run a hand down the cat's back.

"I wish I could take you with me," she whispered.

Nyx, completely oblivious, began to purr.

"You'll be all right here," said Tempest. "Sirius will look after you."

She rose swiftly and strode over to the door. She grasped the handle of her trunk and cracked open the door. Muffled voices floated up to her from the direction of the stairs. It seemed, tired as they were, the Weasleys could not yet find sleep. Tempest closed the door carefully.

She turned to address the window.

The enchanted window in Tempest's room looked out over the same view she had in Minnie's cottage; the grey and rocky affair of the Scottish coast, with only a narrow strip of sand. When Tempest opened the window though, the front façade of 12 Grimmauld Place stretched out beneath her, three stories to the ground.

Tempest took a deep breath. She could do this. She had done it before, with far fewer resources than she had now… she would go to Gringotts first, and from there… she could figure the rest out later. She cast a cushioning charm on the ground below.

"Running away, are we?"

Tempest jolted, and looked around.

It took her a moment before she noticed Phineas Nigellus, who had appeared in one of the picture frames on Tempest's dresser. The original occupants, her parents _,_ were frowning over at him from the picnic blanket they were seated on.

"I'm getting the half-blood out of your house," said Tempest tightly, "don't thank me, get out of my parents' frame."

Phineas stepped sideways into the other picture frame, this one of her, Sirius and Remus, all smiling in the kitchen downstairs. He jostled the three of them until he had knocked Remus out of the frame. Then he dusted down his robes as picture Tempest and Sirius gave him looks of disgust and left the frame as well. "Done," he said smoothly, "now I thought that to belong in Gryffindor House, you were supposed to be _brave?_ It looks to me as though you would have been better off in my own house. We Slytherins are brave, yes, but not stupid. For instance, given the choice, we will always choose to save our own necks."

"Everyone in this house is in danger," said Tempest violently, "either Voldemort or his snake are taking over my brain, neither are ideal- I'm not letting them get close to the people _I care about,_ so you can go back to your own frame, _this is none of your business_."

She hefted her trunk up on the sill. Phineas spoke again.

"I have a message for you from Albus Dumbledore."

Tempest paused. "What is it?"

"Stay where you are."

"I'm still here, aren't I?" said Tempest impatiently, withdrawing from the window, sudden hope filling her. "What was the message?"

"I have just given it to you, dolt," said Phineas smoothly. "Dumbledore says, ' _Stay where you are._ '"

"That's it?" said Tempest in disbelief. "Was there anything else?"

"Nothing whatsoever," said Phineas, raising a thin black eyebrow as though he found Tempest impertinent.

A cold acceptance filled Tempest. She turned her back on the pictures on her dresser and pushed the window wider still. She had just swung a leg over the sill, when there was a sudden pounding of footsteps up the stairs, and the door to her room was wrenched open to reveal Sirius standing there, panting heavily.

He quickly took in the sight of Tempest, halfway out of the window and heaving the trunk over with her.

"What're you doing?"

The speed of his entrance startled Tempest, and she wobbled precariously on the windowsill, losing her grip on her trunk. Sirius crossed the room in three strides and grasped her arm, steadying her before she fell out- though her trunk tumbled down through the air.

They both looked down.

Rather anticlimactically, her trunk slowed as soon as it hit the cushioning charm, several feet from the ground. It floated slowly down to rest on the pavement.

Back inside, Sirius looked at Tempest wildly.

"What were you thinking?" he demanded.

Tempest blinked at him rather stupidly. "How did you know I was going?"

Sirius ran a shaking hand through his hair. "My great-whatever-grandfather popped up in some painting and told me you were jumping out of a window in your room- I had no idea what the hell was happening… I still don't!"

"Something's happening to me," said Tempest slowly. "Dumbledore thinks so. Voldemort's doing something… possessing me, influencing me… it's why I knew what was happening to Mr Weasley. I'm endangering everyone by just being around."

Sirius sat down on her bed, hard. He bounced a bit, before he settled.

"All right," he said, clearly thinking very fast. "So we'll go."

Tempest's head snapped around to him.

" _We?_ "

"Of course 'we,'" said Sirius, "ridiculous of you to think otherwise. We'll go away for a bit, and when we come back, Dumbledore will have something sorted."

Emotions battled in Tempest's chest.

"Sirius, you can't come with me."

Sirius looked at her like she was mad. "You're not going on the run without me."

Tempest closed her eyes. "The whole point of my leaving is because being around me isn't _safe._ If Voldemort takes over, and something happens to you? I'm not letting that happen."

"No, _I'm_ not letting it happen," said Sirius impatiently, "if there was a risk, then Dumbledore would have done something! He's kept me locked up in here because he thinks someone might see me- do you think he wouldn't take measures if there was a risk? The past few months I've stayed indoors, haven't I? Save for the full moons, I've been a good boy and kept my head down!"

"That was to keep you safe!"

"Exactly!" exclaimed Sirius, "If you think leaving is the answer, then all right- but you're not going alone!"

"Yes I am!"

"No, you're not!"

Tempest drew her wand. Sirius drew his.

"What about Nyx?" Sirius demanded, waving a hand at the slumbering feline, "I'd forget to feed her and she'd be dead in a week!"

This Tempest had not considered. "Well if you come with, she'll starve anyway!"

"We'd get McGonagall to take her or something," said Sirius.

Tempest was outraged. "You can't just lump her off on Minnie without a warning!"

Sirius made a loud scoffing sound. "Well what about me?"

"What about you?"

"You were going to lump me off, up and go, without even a note!"

Tempest wanted to grab fistfuls of her hair, but she was still holding her wand. "I wasn't lumping you off at all! If Voldemort weren't using me to attack people left and right, I wouldn't be leaving at all! For all of our sakes- let me go!"

"Nope," said Sirius, and before Tempest could react, he had flicked his wand.

The window behind Tempest slammed shut and sealed over, vanishing into the uniform matter of the rest of the wall. Tempest whirled around.

" _Reducto!_ "

Sirius deflected the spell and it exploded into her desk lamp. Glass shards went everywhere, and Nyx leapt into wakefulness with a yowl.

"Shit, _careful!"_ said Tempest, rushing over to bundle the ruffled cat into her arms. "Sirius, get the door."

Sirius swung the door open, and Tempest walked over to let Nyx leap down into the hallway and run off, tail high in the air. Tempest turned back into the room. Her hand tightened on her wand. She closed the door.

" _Stupefy!_ "

This too was deflected, and Sirius returned with a barrage of non-verbal spells that hammered against Tempest's _Protego._ She began to edge around the room, back to where the window used to be, but couldn't aim beyond the flashing lights. Her spells exploded around the room, and there was dust and wood splinters in the air now from where their spells had torn up the walls and floorboards.

" _Tempestas!_ " yelled Tempest, and the entire room filled with a sudden gale-force wind. The air cleared, sheets were torn off her bed, the papers off her desk, and broken remnants of the room all slammed into Sirius, flattening him against the opposite wall, attempting to shield his face with his free hand.

" _Finite Incantatem!_ "

All the flying objects dropped to the ground; Sirius twisted his wand in a strange motion, and the ground slipped beneath Tempest's feet, sending her toppling over. She thrust out a hand.

" _Incendio!_ "

The flames blocked Sirius from view, and Tempest rolled over to point her wand at the wall where the window used to be.

" _Finite Incantatem!_ "

The window reformed. Abruptly, what felt like several thousand buckets of ice water were emptied over Tempest's head, drenching her to the bone. She staggered to her feet.

" _Incarcerous!_ "

Rope shot in looping coils at Sirius, but Tempest did not look to see if they caught. She leapt for the window.

She felt the impact of the glass shattering against her arms and her face, and vertigo surged within her as she the ground soared toward her.

" _Mobilus!_ "

Tempest was yanked backwards by a solid band of steel coiled around her the ankle. She crashed down on the broken window, the shards of glass tearing into her arms and chest. She hissed in pain as she was dragged through the window and landed on the wet floor of the room. She rolled over with a groan.

She caught a glimpse of Sirius standing near the door, fending off writhing ropes with one arm, and wielding his wand with the other. Then a massive shape filled Tempest's vision.

Her bed had come alive.

It advanced on her, the metal frame contorting and undulating into a menacing shape, ready to trap her…

" _Thanus!_ "

The bed crumpled into dust, and Tempest scrambled to her feet, only to be attacked by the very ropes she had sent at Sirius. They wrapped around her arms, her legs, and she toppled to the ground again.

One concentrated thought later, Buck tore her way free of the ropes and lunged toward Sirius.

She made it one step, was caught in midair, and ended up swimming furiously in place.

Sirius, bleeding from scratches on his face and gouges in his arms and chest, stared at her. Buck snarled, twisting this way and that, but the spell held. Sirius lasted a moment more, before his face crumpled into laughter.

Tempest dropped to the ground in a puddle. She had pieces of glass embedded in her exposed hands, and arms. Shards of glass had cut through her jeans and into her legs, and save for a sliced shirt, the rest of her torso was fine.

Sirius slid down the wall he was leaning against, and continued to chuckle weakly. Tempest hauled herself over to where he sat, and slumped beside him.

"Shut up," she muttered irritably. "You've made your point. I didn't doubt _your_ prowess."

Sirius struggled to compose himself, moping at his eyes with a part of his shirt not stained with blood. "It's just… you looked… so _ridiculous._ "

Tempest could picture it. Unbidden, a smile began to creep up on her face, until the pair of them were leaning against each other, shaking with laughter. Eventually, the laughter petered out, and they sat there in companionable silence. Tempest wrung out her hair, and began picking shards of glass out of her hands. Sirius was doing the same with wooden splinters.

"If you really don't want me to go with you, I won't." said Sirius eventually. His voice was very quiet. "But if you're isolating yourself because you think you'll hurt others… I'm sticking with you."

"I'd go anywhere with you," admitted Tempest

"So we go together, or not at all," said Sirius simply. "If you say you can't stay, then we go. What do you think about New Zealand?"

"New Zealand?" repeated Tempest, her brow creasing. She winced as she tugged at a particularly jagged piece of glass. "Did that just come to you now?"

Sirius looked sheepish. "I was planning it for these holidays. It was what I wanted to talk to you about for Christmas. Given… recent developments, it makes even more sense. We go for a couple of weeks, and by the time we get back, Dumbledore will have something sorted."

"What's in New Zealand?" asked Tempest, trying to think. She'd never paid much attention to international travel, not until Sirius had gone on the run. She didn't think she'd ever so much as looked at a travel brochure.

"Lots of beaches," began Sirius.

"I love beaches."

"Mountains… er… sheep…"

"I don't mind sheep."

"It'll be summer over there this time of the year as well," added Sirius, "so the weather should be fairly nice throughout."

"That's excellent for beach time. How would we get there? Apparition?"

"Doesn't work for distances that far. We'd be scattered to the winds. Generally you'd use a portkey, but the Ministry polices those quite heavily and we'd never get through. We'd catch a muggle flight, on a plane."

Tempest's eyes widened.

"Don't worry about the trip, I've been on a plane before," reassured Sirius. "Well- Buckbeak and I stowed away in the luggage hold… Merlin, I was bruised after that, the bloody bird wouldn't keep still…"

"Speaking of bruises," said Tempest briskly, pointing her wand at herself and casting a drying spell, "we should patch ourselves up, then you're going to help me put this room back together. Imagine what your hallowed ancestor would say. He'd probably accuse us of trying to take the house down."

"Bloody good effort," said Sirius, rising to his feet with a groan. He summoned Tempest's trunk up through the shattered window, and began siphoning dust from the floor with great sweeps of his wand. "So you're game?"

Tempest grinned. She thought she could feel blood trickling down her neck from a gash near her ear. "I am so game."

Unpacking a few days later in a cabin by the water in Wellington, New Zealand, Sirius looked on, amused, as Tempest pulled record after record out of her trunk. "Did you bring your entire collection?"

"Close enough I suppose," replied Tempest, continuing to stack on the desk. She reached deeply into her trunk, arms vanishing deeper than the apparent depth of her suitcase, and withdrew, her record player in arms.

"You're _joking,_ " snorted Sirius. He flopped backwards on his bed, limbs akimbo.

"It's not often this fellow gets to sound out without magic playing havoc," said Tempest. "It barely works back home."

"I rescind my previous snort," said Sirius, "let's have some of that."

With _Too Much Heaven_ playing softly in the background, Sirius dozed as Tempest muddled around on her side of their room- a large spacious en suite with twin beds for the pair of them. She felt wide-awake in the heated afternoon, while Sirius snored.

Tempest had never been on an airplane before. All her travels out of England had been by car or train. Magically speaking, she had flown, used portkeys, floo powder and even apparition, but never stuffed herself into one of the muggle sky tubes she saw so often flying over London. Sirius, on the other hand, had stowed away on a few before, yet it was he who had succumbed to what the muggles called 'jetlag'. He had agreed to the beach that afternoon, but in the meanwhile, he was clearly making the most of the plush pillows at the head of his bed.

With his head to one side and mouth hanging open, Sirius looked mildly hilarious, and Tempest took the opportunity to snap a photograph.

The camera was a gift from Remus, who had dropped by to Tempest's surprised delight, at the last moment for a farewell.

"I wasn't sure if I would get to say goodbye, but I did manage to slip away just in time to get back here and give you both hugs..."

He embraced Tempest. "You should come with us," she _oofed_.

Remus sighed. "I wish I could, but I have things to do here, still." He leant back to look at her. "Now you make sure that one over there doesn't have too much fun, yes?"

Sirius pouted, but the expression quickly slipped away as Remus enveloped him as well. "You have a great trip," Remus said. He reached inside the pocket of his tweed trousers and withdrew a shrunken parcel. "Early Christmas present," he said, handing it to Sirius. "It's for you both."

They clasped arms. "Look after yourself," said Sirius.

"Only as much as you will," smiled Remus.

Photograph developed and airing, Tempest grabbed the bag she'd brought for the trip, and locked herself in the bathroom. As with all of their (seemingly limited) luggage, the compartments within her bag were undetectably expanded, and from the right one, Tempest drew out her potions chest.

She set it down on the bathroom sink and unclasped the locks with a flick of her wand. Inside, Tempest selected two vials, one containing a maroon red liquid, the other a murky grey. She downed them in quick succession, grimacing at the taste.

Looking into the bathroom mirror, Tempest noted her hair change colour first, red bleeding into the black until even the roots of her hair were the same colour as the potion had been. Then, a very strange sensation crawled over the top of her head, and she saw her hair, which had been almost shoulder length, grow a good several inches, and straighten.

Tempest looked at herself very carefully. It had only been a few tweaks, but unless someone knew her very well, she wouldn't be recognized as a passerby on the street. She inspected her eyes. Opening her mouth, she peered closely at her teeth. She had been on edge in the plane, checking herself often to ensure she wasn't about to 'go snake.' Sirius, who had been nothing but reassuring, allowed her to fuss without comment.

Tempest closed her mouth and looked at herself in the mirror for a moment longer. Perhaps she was expecting something. If it had been a wizarding mirror, she couldn't have looked into for too long without some snide comment from the glass. The muggle mirror remained obstinately silent. She turned away.

Tempest set aside another colouring vial for Sirius, and stripped off to shower. Seven minutes later, she stepped out pink and fresh. Through the open window of the bathroom, she could see the water sparkling and gleaming invitingly. She dressed and threw open the bathroom door.

"Sirius, awake," she called, striding into the other room.

She had to duck a stunner Sirius sent her way, but after repairing the damage done to the cabin wall, managed to drag him out of bed. He drank his disguise and dressed in beach-appropriate clothes. Stubbornly, he snored lightly as she propped him up for the walk down to the sand, then let him flop down on the picnic blanket.

Tempest buried their wands in a bit of sand near Sirius's head, then set off for the sea.

The water was surprisingly warm, compared to the usually frigid ocean back in Blighty, but endlessly clear. Tempest waded out until she was waist deep, then dove under, swimming with clean strokes through the blue.

White sand littered with bits of shell and seaweed stretched out beneath her, and the waves were gentle and rocking when she surfaced for air. There weren't palm trees waving in the distance, but it was blissful.

Their stretch of the beach was deserted, but perhaps a mile down the sand, Tempest could see a group of people with their own blanket on the sand, and many heads bobbing in the water. Tempest wondered if they were locals, or renting a cabin like her and Sirius. She floated on her back and kicked idly for a good while, basking in the noon sun.

She washed up on the shore some amount of time later, feeling pleasantly dozy.

Dripping salt water, Tempest made her way over to where Sirius was lying in the shade and flopped down next to him, off the blanket in the sun. In their trek to the beach, she had neglected to bring a towel. Sand instantly clumped to her damp skin, and she wiggled further out into the sun, perching a pair of sunglasses on her nose. She closed her eyes.

When she woke, not twenty minutes later, she was as red as a lobster, and there was a brown-skinned man standing above her.

"No ozone layer," he informed her, "you've got to slip, slop and slap, mate."

Tempest sat up. "What?"

He tossed a small bottle at her, which she caught automatically, and he hightailed it out to the water.

Tempest blinked after him, then popped the cap of the sunscreen and began lathering up.

Sirius woke with flailing limbs not long after, and he stared blearily at the red and white monster beside him.

"A bit much, isn't it?" he said, rubbing at his eyes.

"Oh you'll need some as soon as you get out of the shade, don't worry about that," retorted Tempest, now reaching around to brush off the sand from her back before coating that in white as well. "I'm looking at those lily white legs of yours."

Sirius tossed a handful of sand at her, most of which missed. "Where'd you get the sunscreen?"

Tempest nodded out to sea. "That bloke there was so kind as to make the donation, here."

Sirius took the bottle and began spreading the lotion every which way. After a while, he looked over at where Tempest had indicated the bobbing head and torso in the waves. "He was very obliging," he said idly. Then, "we are on holiday. Something you'd be interested in?"

Tempest frowned at him. "George Weasley, Sirius."

"Right, right," said Sirius, shaking his head. "Which one was that one again? The one with the long hair, or the dragon boy?"

"That's Bill and Charlie," said Tempest, "George is one of the twins."

Sirius stared at her.

Tempest wracked her brains. "The one who yelled at you."

"Oh that's fine then," said Sirius dismissively, "no loss."

Tempest swatted at his arm. "If you like generous, glistening swimmers so much, _you_ go after him."

"Tempting," Sirius assured her, "but I prefer to wear my own face when I'm out on the pull."

They dozed for a while.

Eventually, the shadow they lay in shifted, and the heavy New Zealand sun beat down, heavy and relentless. They moved the blanket; Tempest moved her feet off to bury them in the toasty sand. They went back to sleep.

Christmas Eve found Tempest and Sirius up a mountain in Queenstown, an absolutely picturesque city framed with mountains and a simply beautiful lake, crystal clear water lapping up against the white, sandy shores.

On the hike up the mountain, there had been gorgeous sights down cliffs and into plains that stretched out into misty valleys. The chill that had clung to them when they headed out early in the morning quickly faded away even when they walked through the shadows of trees, and tramped up the still damp gravel of the track.

They had camping gear shrunk in their pockets, and a complete openness to getting lost.

"We can re-orient if we hit the ocean," Sirius had said. "It's not like we could wander off to Cardiff by accident."

Tempest had shaken her head. "Somehow, and I don't know how you could possibly have done it, but I think you're speaking from experience."

Sirius had pursed his lips.

As morning passed into noon, all the dew that had jeweled the plants on their way up had evaporated. The sun grew steadily more intense until Tempest and Sirius had to reapply fresh bought sunscreen again, and squint past the glare.

They stopped for lunch by a beautiful shallow lake, pebbled with smooth round stones. The water was delightfully cool, and Tempest and Sirius dangled their feet in as they lounged on a bit of grass by the edge. They munched on some bars for lunch, and watched a bird peck for a worm not far away.

After vanishing the wrappers, they waded for a while, the water only coming up to mid-calf at deepest. Sirius splashed Tempest half-heartedly, which unsurprisingly led to retaliation, and two sopping figures splashing back to the shore so they could collect their wands and dry themselves.

It was at this point that Tempest tackled Sirius around the neck, sending the pair of them crashing back into the water. An errant passerby might have seen two small dark figures flitting about in the sparkling water, the distant sound of laughter and splashing filtering through the trees and echoing up the hills.

Half an hour later, the pair resumed their trek. They had left the path hours ago, not long after passing their third hiker, seemingly of the same mind to take in the most of the sights. Not keen on running into any other people, Sirius and Tempest struck off the beaten track and instead tramped through long grasses and navigated further and further away from running into any potential muggles.

On the flat, it was relatively easy going, even with the uneven ground, unexpected dips and rocks hidden from their eyes. Uphill was a bit trickier, especially when they hit crunchy, loose dirt, which slipped beneath their boots and sent them back several inches with every step they took.

Neither Sirius or Tempest could be called unfit, so come evening, when the sky had begun to darken, the pair felt pleasantly tired, but in no hurry to stop.

The sun was setting fast, vanishing in increments behind an imposing mountain range. The last rays across the sky were casting the entire valley in a pinkish glow. The few clouds ambling about above had become purpled, deep in the thick of the cloud, and fading out into a lighter shade where the cloud wisped into nothingness.

"Imagine a Christmas without rain." Sirius nudged Tempest's shoulder with his own.

She grinned at him. "Won't have to soon."

The sun had fully set when they came across a nice bit of flat to pitch their tent. After casting muggle-repelling charms, Sirius sent a _lumos maxima_ to light their workspace, and they expanded the shrunken tent.

Tempest began pulling the tent poles out of the bag while Sirius fought the canvas one handed, waving the instructions ineffectively in the other.

"There aren't half enough words here," complained Sirius, shaking the last of the canvas free and taking both hands to frown at the sheet of paper. "It's all diagrams. How the blasted hell are you meant to figure out which part is which?"

Tempest peered over his arm to squint at the paper. "You can't magic it up?"

Sirius rubbed at his eyes. "I _could,_ but we'd end up with a destroyed tent. Last time I went camping with a tent, James set it all up, because he knew what he was doing… We need to actually know what bit goes where for that to work-"

Tempest pursed her lips and looked back down at the instructions. "Let's start with threading the poles through where it tells us to, yeah?"

In the end, it took forty-five minutes to set the tent up, the process becoming much easier once they gave up on the instructions and muddled about on their own. The final result sagged a bit at the back, and there were a few loose ropes they hadn't found a use for, but it was standing, and didn't look likely to collapse. Sirius gave one of the struts a good poke. The entire structure shuddered, but held. He and Tempest exchanged triumphant looks.

Getting a fire started was much simpler. Tempest began moving stones to form a fire pit, while Sirius transfigured a handful of grass into a pile of firewood. A very controlled _incendio_ later, they sat around the merrily crackling fire, unrolling blankets and settling in comfortably.

Sirius got some sausages out of his bag, removed the stasis spell, and set about twelve or so to float above the flames.

Tempest lay stretched out on her stomach beside Sirius, watching as the sausages began to brown. It was right cozy, and she closed her eyes.

The fire shone red from behind her eyelids, and she bathed in the warmth. "I love fires," she muttered idly.

She heard Sirius chuckle. "There's no need to tell me that, Pest. Given the opportunity, you'd make a damn fine arsonist."

Tempest cracked open eye to give Sirius a serious stare. "Don't tempt me."

Sirius held up his hands in surrender. The sausages wavered warningly in the air; Sirius gave them a reproving stare, and they stabilised.

By the time the sausages were ready, the stars were beginning to become visible in the sky. Tempest munched on a slightly burnt sausage and leaned against Sirius's side, gazing upwards. "I've been thinking of getting a job."

"Oh?"

"Or volunteer, or something."

"What's brought this on?" asked Sirius in surprise, finishing his sausage and floating another over to himself.

Tempest followed his example and yelped as the sausage burnt her fingers. "Ow- Merlin- right, I guess I just realised I've got tonnes of money, and I don't really do… anything at all."

Sirius frowned at her. "Oi."

Tempest rolled her eyes. "Your situation is entirely different- you were training to be an auror, you _were_ an auror, and now you'd be arrested if you even stuck your undisguised nose out the door. But me-"

"You're fifteen," sighed Sirius, "you don't need to start working for a living."

"Just because I don't _need_ to doesn't mean I can't," said Tempest empathetically. "I haven't worked a day in my life for my money, but others need to. Take Ron- or Hermione, or the twins. They're already starting a business and they haven't even left Hogwarts yet."

Sirius seemed greatly unconcerned. "It depends on how you look at it. For my part, I thought you had enough to get on with already, without adding a job to the pile."

"It'd only be for the summer holidays," said Tempest, "ours I mean, back home. And I'm hardly the only person in the entire world to have… issues."

Sirius snorted loudly. " _Issues._ "

Tempest ignored him. "So I'm wondering if it'd be better to work in the wizarding world or branch out into the muggle world. I won't be qualified for much though."

"Any ideas what you want to do specifically?"

"No idea," said Tempest. "Whatever, it was a thought- it's a way off. What would you do? After all of this?"

"If I could stick my undisguised nose out the door without being arrested?" said Sirius wryly. Tempest grimaced. "I'd go travelling again," said Sirius wistfully. "A bit like this. Exactly like this? I went to so many strange places when I was on the run. I'd like to see them properly." He looked over at Tempest. "If someone put job plans on hold, I'd like a traveling companion. You know, someone other than a winged beast who couldn't comment on the skyline if you trained him for several months."

"You don't speak from experience?"

"I do not," confirmed Sirius.

Tempest smiled.

"I don't definitely need a job right away," she said, considering. "At least, not for the next few years."

Sirius made a deep sound of contentment. He finished his last sausage and wiped his hands on his trousers. "What did you want to do then? Not a holiday job, but something long term."

 _What do I want to do?_

It really wasn't fair for Sirius to ask that, not after he had just sketched out the absolute best-case scenario for them. ' _The future'_ had never really crossed her mind before. Oh she thought of the coming year, and of the next term, and the difference between being fifteen and sixteen, but beyond that?

And what of Voldemort? He was at large; doing Merlin knew what, growing stronger and stronger. Somehow it was difficult to look past that. He'd forever be a shadow on her mind. How could any work she would do feel meaningful if it wasn't about opposing him? A holiday job was different. It was a distraction, something to feel like she was doing her bit, but there wasn't anything she particularly _wanted_ to do.

 _What do I want to do?_

It _really_ wasn't fair. There Sirius was, casually mentioning travelling the world together, and now Tempest couldn't think of anything she'd want more.

Tempest tilted her head backwards. Back onto Sirius's shoulder, and up to face the night sky. The stars gazed back at her, a cold, distant audience.

"I'd want to be an astronaut," she said. She felt Sirius's head move, rotating without dislodging her, to look down at her face. His face was an open question. "After we've travelled all of earth," she said, "what say you to space?"

She could feel Sirius's smile. "I say aye."

They watched the fire flicker in hypnotic patterns for a while.

"The moon landing," said Tempest eventually. "Do you remember that?"

Sirius made a choked noise. "Merlin, Tempest, I'm not that old!"

"You're thirty five?" Tempest looked at Sirius for confirmation, and he ducked his head, still spluttering indignantly.

"The moon landing was fifty nine."

"I was born in fifty nine!"

"There you go," said Tempest triumphantly.

"It was still before I was born," protested Sirius.

Tempest rolled her eyes. "That thing about potatoes," she said dismissively. "Still, the crazy things muggles do. Are there any magical means to get to the moon? We spend enough time staring around the galaxy in Astronomy. I was so excited when I started that topic. But it's all trite if there's no practical end."

Sirius laughed unexpectedly. "You know who you sound like?"

"Who?"

"McGonagall," chortled Sirius, "Merlin, James would be rolling over in his grave."

Tempest sniffed. "I take it as a compliment. I like Minnie."

"Merlin knows I do as well, but I don't bloody well sound like her!"

Tempest got off his shoulder and began tidying away the cups they had brought. Unimaginative as they were, they hadn't brought anything more interesting than orange juice (though Sirius may have packed a flask which Tempest had conveniently lost). Tempest rinsed them out with her wand and stuck them back in the pack. She gave her hands a bit of a clean as well.

"Want me to get yours?" she offered Sirius, flicking her wand in his direction. "You've got grease everywhere."

Sirius held his hands out obligingly; Tempest sent a _scourgify_ at them, then, as an afterthought, did his shirt and trousers as well.

Sirius got up as well, and they made all the motions of preparing for sleep, without any real intention to. They went off separately a bit into the distance where the firelight didn't touch them and went about their pre-bed rituals.

When Tempest arrived back at the fire, she noted the large black dog lazing about before the fire, head resting on his paws.

With a bit of a smile, Tempest folded over as Buck and padded lightly over to sit beside him.

And so they passed into Christmas.

Auckland was next. They managed to secure a house for a week in a tiny town in a peninsula, Te Atatu North, a cozy little thing near the water. The owners of the house had gone to Australia for the holidays, and were keen to make a bit of money, or rather, a large sum of money, for the short notice.

The house was a single story, had a neatly kept garden and a front yard. On first arriving at the property, Tempest had crouched to admire the flowers.

Grimmauld Place didn't have a garden, and while Minnie did have a bit of grass and shrubbery, she tended to let it all go a bit wild. Tempest had cultivated a bit of wisteria around the porch and convinced some to flourish on the fencing when she had lived there, and stood a bit in awe of those who could keep their flowers alive without magical aid.

The little town was still coming together, Tempest could tell.

There weren't many cars on the road when she and Sirius roared down the only road into the peninsula on the bike. The shops in the town center were exactly the basics: butchers, tiny local supermarket, library, hardware, some dollar stores, and a chippy. There must have been be more, Tempest mused, except the houses were pretty much one-deep, on the side streets, and beyond that, there was only grass.

There were trees of course, and the odd plot of land that had a frame up and scaffolding for a new house. But when she went for a walk, Tempest fell in love with the emptiness of it all. There were wide-open empty places back in England she knew, but here… here was different.

The view across the bay to where the city skyline was, was fantastic, and the way the light caught the water was breathtaking, but unlike England, the place felt unfinished. Like a page waiting to be filled in, a bit of land that hadn't been steeped in memories yet.

Everything back in Blighty felt familiar, like the air, or the land. Here… it wasn't _hers,_ but on her early morning walks, Tempest breathed in the cool, fresh air, and it felt like part of her.

It was likely that Sirius felt the same, in the tiny town, in the tiny city, in the tiny country at the bottom of the world.

Perhaps it was that he felt less hunted in New Zealand, less on guard.

He could sleep in now, not disturbed by the noise of the Order traipsing in and out downstairs at Grimmauld Place. He could wander about the streets without as much caution, not hiding behind layers of magical disguise. His new hair colour, like Tempest's, was sufficient to remove any passing resemblance, and Tempest had grown used to it by now.

They were less self-conscious. Less tense. Voldemort, his death eaters, and the Ministry seemed so far away.

There was so much to do. Sirius had booked skydiving, horse riding, kayaking, and many more activities, making Tempest wonder just how much money he had to exchange from galleons, to pounds, to New Zealand dollars. She knew the Black family vault holdings had to be massive, but from what she had seen in documents, she knew the Potter holdings were nothing to turn a nose up at either. Instead of protesting the cost, Tempest set aside in her mind to pay for the next holiday.

Greece perhaps. Tempest had always loved the old myths.

Skydiving was amazing- _falling,_ Tempest discovered, was exactly like flying, except in reverse, and with no control whatsoever. As first-timers, they had been strapped to the front of the staff that took the jump with them, and Tempest had whooped so loudly, she might have deafened her partner on the way down.

Sirius had decided it wasn't really for him, and instead excelled at horse riding. His family had owned property in France, along with some horses that he had known as a boy. He described his proficiency at riding to the horse master as 'expert.' Tempest, not to be cowed, declared the same. She had flown on Buckbeak before; a muggle horse should be little different.

She was wrong.

A rather bruised Tempest then went kayaking with Sirius, which he again excelled at, and Tempest continued to paddle her vessel backward. Eventually, she gave up, shucked the life jacket, threw the paddle to the waves, and dove into the water to chase after Sirius's kayak, and drag him into the water with her.

They spent days driving or flying in and around and out of Auckland. They visited mountains, beaches, and more of them both until Tempest was simply in awe of how much beauty could be fit into so small a place. Beach after beach of superb quality, and places selling fresh caught fish and chips.

If it weren't for the amount of walking she and Sirius were doing, Tempest thought they might have gotten quite fat.

As it was, on New Years night, Tempest felt quite bloated after an afternoon at Spinnaker Strand, the beach just down from their rented house, with Sirius, gorging themselves on what must have been the fifth fish and chips they had had that week.

They lazed about on the sand. A few people crossed by their line of sight, walking dogs, talking arm in arm, leading children to the water.

Spinnaker wasn't the same caliber of beach that had been Bethels, or Mission Bay, or Muriwai, or Piha, or Onetangi, or those in Queenstown, or the one in the shadow of Mt Maunganui, (most names Tempest was sure she would mangle on repeat pronunciation) but Tempest thought she might love it the most.

It had more rocks and broken shells embedded in permanently damp sand than it had shimmering white sand, but from where they lay, an entire bay lay shimmering out before them.

The tide went out very far, perhaps a kilometer stretch of wet sand, and near to where the edge of the water was, was a narrow bar of white. When noon turned into evening, and the passerby's had trickled off, Tempest and Sirius had walked out to it, the sand turning into mud, which squelched and sucked at their boots, until the pair of them were having the struggle against the mud.

Finally, clumps of mud doubling the sizes of their shoes, Tempest and Sirius arrived at the stretch of white, surrounded by budding shoots of hopeful mangroves.

It was a sort-of-island, a pristine island made of shells, thousands upon thousands of shells that had been bleached in the sun to become bone white. The tide, when it came in, must not have risen high enough to cover the bank, and so it remained free of alge scum and mud.

They navigated across the shells, cracking and crunching underfoot, until they reached the other side, where water lapped up against the shells.

The water was shallow, and in the distance, it flattened out into a plane of blue. It looked almost as if one could simply walk right over to the bridge and the city in the distance.

It was also quiet.

Oh the wind was murmuring, and the birds sometimes screamed when they wheeled overhead, but where they stood, the beach seemed utterly secluded from the world.

Tempest and Sirius washed their boots as best they could in the water, then settled down on the shells. They sit for a long time.

"It seems foolish to ask now, but does New Zealand have a magical community?" asked Tempest.

Sirius shrugged. "I don't think they have anything close to the numbers we have north, but there are a lot of ex-pats living over here, so they might have something."

"It never occurred to me," said Tempest sheepishly. "I mean, I knew they wouldn't know us down here, but I never actually considered what that _meant._ Do you think they know about Voldemort at all? About any of it?"

"Some might," said Sirius unhelpfully. "Probably the ones that knew about him before they came. Others that might get the Prophet. Of course, not recently, with the way that paper's going…" Perhaps Sirius saw the way the darker path the conversation might take, and he changed the subject swiftly. "So, what do you see in him, your Geoff?"

It was not the first of Sirius's inquires into George. He also seemed to have taken an abrupt and childish stance to forget George's name at every possible opportunity.

Tempest sighed. "George's a good friend."

Sirius sounded as though he were rolling his eyes. "And what exactly separates this Graham from all your other good friends?"

Tempest frowned. "I dunno exactly really, he asked I suppose, and it was very nice. We haven't even really hung out since he asked me out. His dad, you know."

Sirius's expression did waver for a moment, but then he was back in full force.

"And do you see a future with this Germ?"

" _Sirius!_ "

Sirius relented, and he held up his hands apologetically. "I'm trying to be a responsible guardian here," he placated. "Think of what James would say! I've got to ask the questions!"

"You really haven't," said Tempest, getting to her feet, but touched all the same. She offered Sirius a hand up.

"I really do," said Sirius, seizing her hand and hauling himself up.

Tempest huffed in annoyance. "Look- what we're doing barely even counts as dating- the only reason I told you to begin with was because… well, it was something new! I didn't know you'd fuss so."

"It is my duty to fuss- oh bollocks."

"What- oh."

The tide had crept in while they had been seated on the shelf of shells. It was dark now, but the moon reflected off the water that had come in and utterly surrounded them, turning their little bank of shells into a true island. They swiveled about, looking for a dry path back, and seeing none.

Shore was dimly lit, a raised shadow against the slightly less-dark sky.

"Sneaky bastard," muttered Sirius to the water.

Tempest couldn't help but laugh.

Sirius soon joined her, and they had a good laugh, prodding at the insolent water with their shoes, and giggling at the ridiculousness of the situation. How slowly must have the water have moved? And how unobservant had they been to miss it?

"Shoes off," said Tempest eventually, "we'll have to wade."

Still chuckling, they stripped off their shoes and socks and stepped out into the dark water.

The mud squelched beneath their toes, and Tempest swore she felt a crab pinch her several times. She and Sirius padded their way through the water slowly. The water only came up to mid-thigh, and both she and Sirius had had the good sense to wear shorts that day. After a while, the feeling of mud beneath her toes, the sucking and release of it, began to feel quite nice.

Sirius agreed when Tempest brought it up.

"But about Gavin," persisted Sirius, to Tempest's sigh of annoyance, "I've a right to be concerned. Maybe not about _him_ exactly… if he's your mate, and you like him, I trust your judgment. But relationships are…"

Tempest went out on a limb. " _You_ haven't been in a relationship for the last fourteen years."

"Oof," complained Sirius, clutching at his chest dramatically. "Hit me where it hurts, why don't you? It's not like I've much opportunity for requests to come piling up at my door. But I'll have you know-" and here he reached over to muss Tempest's hair so violently she lost balance and had to spit out strands, "I've been in a grand total of two relationships in my life, so that beats your paltry experience, Pest."

Tempest pulled a foot out of the mud with excess force, and splashed water so high her shorts became wet. She ignored this and applauded Sirius instead. "Brava." The number was actually far lower than she had expected. She had seen pictures of Sirius, younger, when he had been her age. If one were to be shallow, he was very easy to look at. His personality wasn't half bad either.

Of course, she had never viewed him as dating material though.

"Although," said Sirius, quieter now, as though talking to himself, "the first one barely counted at all. So it might just be one…" Louder, "it was for a good two years though, so."

Tempest nodded reassuringly. She could still see Sirius in the moonlight, even if he was a bit blurred into the darkness around the edges. "Nothing to turn a nose up at," she said. "So who was the lucky girl?"

"Just Remus," replied Sirius.

Remus.

"Remus?"

 _Remus?_

" _Remus?_ "

"Remus," confirmed Sirius. He paused. "Not a problem is it?"

"How could it be? I adore Remus!" exclaimed Tempest, almost tripping in her excitement.

"Some of the best days of my life," Sirius reflected. It was with some relief that he then spoke. "For obvious reasons, we weren't exactly public about it, but we did date."

"I never even suspected!" said Tempest, incredulously. She thought back quickly, trying to recall every interaction between the two, to see if there had been any indication… There had been none- they were close, but they had known each other for more than half their lifetimes, and they were all close… "Did my parents-"

"They knew," replied Sirius. They had finally reached the shore. The sharp edges of the shells now dug into Tempest's feet, and her gait became mincing.

"But you're not together now?" asked Tempest cautiously. She thought about the pairing. Sirius had said they needed to be discreet, and it wasn't like it had been any of her business, so they wouldn't have mentioned it. Except now that she knew, their paring made more and more sense.

They were well matched, closer than friends, closer than brothers, and if anyone could ever be worthy of either of them, it would be the other.

"No," said Sirius. "We decided to end things a bit after Hogwarts."

Tempest's heart sank. "Why? If you don't mind my asking-"

"Of course not." Sirius sighed. "Well that's why I wanted to speak to you about Grant. Relationships are weird. Well, the ones I've had. Well, the one I've had. No, the first, not-relationship was weird as well. _That_ one was with a girl."

Tempest made a noise of sympathy.

"There was nothing wrong with Remus, I might start with that," said Sirius, "Merlin, I love that man, now and then, and I'd do anything for him, do you see?"

Tempest thought she might. "You could've started with that."

Sirius barked a laugh. "I could have, but I'm terrible at this. We could've broken up for any number of reasons. Not because we were wrong for each other, even now, I still don't think that. We both had a lot going on, and we spent time together because we were friends. Doing more seemed unnecessary. I've never understood why people think of being single as something undesirable. It's a natural state of being.

That wasn't it though. Dating was like the icing on the cake of our friendship- we didn't need it, but it was nice enough to have. We could have kept on. But I was going to be an auror, and Remus was going to strike out to get a job in the muggle world, and our paths just sort of diverged. We didn't come out of that relationship broken hearted or anything- if anything I'd like to think we were happier. We were going to be friends for the rest of our lives anyway. If we weren't going out then, I figured we could just pick right back up where we left off to give it another go."

Here, Sirius paused. He seemed dissatisfied with something he had said. They had walked up the beach, and on the grass, the shells were no longer cutting at their feet. The mud and water on Tempest's legs was drying, and beginning to feel quite cold.

"The real reason we ended things… and I say we, because we came to the same conclusion, even if Remus got there first-" Sirius gave a wry sort of smile, "he was always the brightest of us. Remus wanted a job where he could be normal. Where people wouldn't look sideways at him, or whisper behind his back. So he was going to strike out in the muggle world, and I was going to stick to the magical. I'd always wanted to be an auror. I couldn't think of doing anything else with my life."

Sirius sucked in a breath. "But if he'd asked me to... I would've dropped my dreams and run off with him. He'd have gotten a muggle job, and so would I, and we'd live somewhere where no one knew our names, or who we were, and I'd have resented him for it. It would have been the same in reverse. Remus'd have stayed in the magical world with me if I'd asked. He'd probably even have put on a better face about it than I would."

The mud had dried entirely on Tempest's feet now. If she curled her toes, she could feel it cracking.

"But neither of you asked."

"No," said Sirius. "We didn't need to."

They cleaned off their feet in the grass in silence, and put their shoes and socks back on.

The walk back to the house was contemplative. Once inside, Tempest and Sirius took turns in the bathroom, and while Tempest was taking her shower, Sirius set the kettle to boil, and began brewing some tea. When Tempest emerged in nightwear, Sirius snagged blankets from the sofas, and led the way to the porch.

They seated themselves on the wooden steps, curled up snugly in the blankets. In the direction of the beach they had come from, on the other side of the bay, though the sun was hours off, the sky was beginning to brighten.

 _Dong._

The grandfather clock in the house had begun to chime.

"I was talking to the grocer the other day… apparently 'te atatu' means 'the dawn.'"

Tempest pivoted her head to look at Sirius, then back to look at the skyline. "Want to stay up to see it then?"

Across the water, the fireworks began.

Sirius picked up his mug, and hefted it. Tempest followed suit.

 _Dong._

"To a very happy new year."

Sirius didn't clink his glass against hers, bumping knuckles instead.

 _Dong._

"Do you regret it? Ending things?"

Sirius took a long sip from his mug. "The things I've done… I regret many of them. I'd change a lot. But not that. Never that. And where I've ended up…"

The fireworks were lighting up the sky, turning his face gold and red.

Sirius looked at Tempest.

"Well, it's not so bad."


	10. (Parts Of)The Truth Will Out(Eventually)

**_Chapter Ten-_**

Sirius had gotten Tempest a gramophone for Christmas.

It sat waiting on her reconstructed desk, with a gaudy red bow around the neck of the horn, gleaming bronze and already softly playing _It's Been A Long, Long Time_.

How Sirius had managed to set it all up the time it had taken for Tempest to set the kettle to boil evaded her, but the thought quickly escaped her mind as she sank down into the chair before it, and ran an admiring hand over the wood of the box.

Fifteen minutes back in Grimmauld Place and there was already so much to do. Tempest had to unpack her bag, and then repack her trunk for Hogwarts. She would have to nip downstairs to see how the Weasleys were doing.

Nyx was back as well; Tempest and Sirius had dropped by Minnie's to pick her up. While the cat had been well looked after, fatter than usual due to Minnie's dotting, she was clearly sulking at having been left behind. She rebuffed Tempest's attempts to have a cuddle with a sulky look, and a flick of her tail.

Chastened, Tempest muddled around the room, throwing things this way and that. There were things to be expanded, others to be shrunken. There was dirty clothing to be separated from clean, and textbooks from leisure. Tempest took out a fat envelope of photographs, and stuck some up on the wall above her desk.

The record began to wind down, and Tempest reset the needle and disc.

"That's nice."

Tempest raised her head to see George peering around the door to her room.

"It's gorgeous isn't it?" said Tempest, giving the gramophone a lingering look. "It plays beautifully. I've been using magic left and right, and it hasn't stuttered once."

George stepped fully into the room. "I meant your hair," he said, "but yeah, it sounds great."

"Ah." Tempest paused. Her hair was still straight and red, and it would remain so until she had the time to brew a potion to reverse it.

"It looks close to Ginny's." said George, "a bit darker, maybe."

"How's your dad?" asked Tempest, lifting the needle so that the song stopped, but the disc continued spinning with a faint whirring sound. She switched the gramophone off.

"He's better," said George, moving over to greet Nyx. "He's sitting up and everything. We're hoping he'll be released from Mungo's soon."

"Thank Merlin," said Tempest, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Nyx was purring as George stroked her. The cat eyed Tempest maliciously through slitted eyes, and arched into George's touch. _Traitor_. "Happy Christmas and New Year by the way," she added. "I know Sirius and I just sort of… uped and went, so happy returns for the holiday season."

"It was a bit of a surprise," admitted George. "…you have a good time?"

"We did," said Tempest. "I should say though, the reason we went away… it wasn't entirely meant to be a holiday at first. There was… there still is, the possibility of Voldemort, er, controlling me."

George stilled. "Like possessing you?"

"…yes. I was going to leave by myself, but Sirius sort of… knocked some sense into me, so we thought it'd be best to get out of here for a bit, for everyone's safety. And I did prefer a holiday to exile. We're back now because… well, there haven't been any more… incidents, so maybe Dumbledore does know what he's doing."

Through this all, George had an odd expression on his face, and when Tempest was done, he said: "Is that all?" and she realised the expression was dawning relief.

Tempest frowned at him. "Isn't that enough?"

George gave a burst of laughter. "I honestly thought you were running away from me!"

"You certainly think a lot of yourself," said Tempest incredulously, "it was a bit more dire than that."

George continued to look heartened. "What I meant was there's no need to worry then! Ginny- remember Ginny got possessed? Well did anything that happened to her, happen to you? Forgetting time? Being places you couldn't remember getting to?"

"No-"

"Then you're fine!"

Tempest looked at George's beaming face. It couldn't be that simple.

But she hadn't missed any time. Perhaps the dream had merely been a fluke. She had seen what Voldemort had been doing before from a third person perspective. Disconcerting as it was, perhaps it wasn't more than that. Voldemort or his snake hadn't possessed her; she had just been along for the wildly unpleasant ride.

"Oh thank the stars," Tempest breathed out, curling over until her face was buried in her bedspread. Muffled: "thank the _fucking_ stars."

There was a hesitant touch to her shoulder, then a firmer pat-pat-pat.

"There we go, I'm the bringer of good news," said George cheeringly.

Tempest reached backwards to grab at his hand, and sitting up, she hung onto it for a moment. "You really fucking are- thank _fuck_ , George."

George grinned. "Glad to help." He stood from the bed and paused just before the door. He turned back. "…do you have any idea why Sirius called Fred Gregory just before?"

Tempest groaned.

* * *

There wasn't much left of the holidays anymore. Time had flown by, and the beginning of the new term loomed. Mr Weasley was making steady strides toward recovery- very literally, as Molly Weasley reported he could walk from his bed to the bathroom unassisted now. The shadow of Voldemort possessing Tempest was lifted, Nyx had eventually forgiven her, and Hermione was also staying at Grimmauld Place. She had arrived not long after the Weasleys had discovered that she and Sirius had left. France and skiing had not been for her, she admitted, though she told Tempest quite sternly not to tell Ron, as he was under the impression that she was quite good at it.

Of course, Sirius continued to call both the twins every variation of a name beginning with 'g,' but the twins took it in stride, and began slipping babbling potions into his food.

To top it all off, even Kreacher seemed to be in a better mood.

Perhaps the break from both Sirius and Tempest's presence had done him well, as the mutterings petered out, and he refrained from flat out glaring malevolently at them, making sure it do it when he thought they weren't looking.

Tempest was trying to stretch out every moment she could before having to go back to Hogwarts. Other than the DA, there was very little to look forward to. Proximity to Honeydukes? They had sweets in London.

"I don't want to go back," she complained to George on their last day of the holidays.

She had stepped out with George to run a few errands. They had purchased some of the aforementioned sweets, and were now ambling down the road in the direction of Diagon Alley, bundled up in jackets and scarves. There was a large sugary lump distending the line of George's coat, and Tempest's hands, safely enclosed in thick woolen gloves, held a bag of toffees for them to peck at as they went.

"There's one good thing about things being the way they are," said George, his breath misting in the air before him, "back in the old days, I always felt a bit bad about causing McGonagall or Dumbledore trouble, you know? But with Umbridge in, it's like revenge, yeah?"

"I get that," nodded Tempest, popping a toffee in her mouth, and then pulling her scarf back up to her nose. The temperature was a far cry from swimwear. They turned down into the street where the Leaky Cauldron was. She stowed away the bag of toffees and shoved her hands deep into her pockets. "It's a different sort of fun I suppose, vengeance. Speaking of vengeance, I've run fresh out of beetles eyes for brewing Sirius's cure to your babbling solution, so could you wind it down? I'm getting more, but I need those for other things."

George laughed. "It's _your_ babbling potion too!"

"Precisely! I'm trapped in a circle that keeps cancelling itself out!"

George chortled.

They reached the pub, and George pushed the door open. The interior was very dark and shabby, but it was crowded with patrons. Tempest kept her head down as she and George made their way through the front room and around to the back. Inconspicuous as she hoped they were amongst all the other heavily wrapped wizarding folk, Tempest still knew they were being followed.

It was not Tonks this time, but a shorter figure Tempest thought might have been Mundungus. He had been following them ever since they left the house, and now, from the corner of her eye, she noted a squat figure entering the Cauldron behind them.

"It's definitely Mundungus," she whispered to George as they made their way out into the small courtyard behind the pub. "I win."

"You get to pick lunch then," said George. "Good thing really, I've got crap taste."

The last day before term began again, and Diagon Alley was filled with shoppers. It was easy to get shoved along amongst the bustle, as the street had never been wide enough to accommodate even ten people walking abreast.

George fumbled for Tempest's hand, and slid his fingers through hers.

They visited Slug and Jiggers Apothecary first, where Tempest stocked up on beetles eyes, giving George a stern look as she scooped them into a bag. She hadn't brought a list of everything she was low on, so she bought what she could remember, and made a mental note to mail-order what she was missing later.

Tempest was wearing Sirius's jacket, so her purchases vanished easily into her pockets, even the most bulky, wrapped up in layers of brown paper.

After the apothecary, they set off for Gringotts.

The lobby of the bank was grand, with colonnades along the walls and marbled floors. Candelabras lined the desks that led up the hall, and many sparkling chandeliers hung from the high arched ceiling. Goblins were seated behind the desks, some writing on long rolls of parchment, and others weighing glittering gems and other precious metals on delicate scales.

The entire building hummed with magical energy, making the hairs at the back of Tempest's neck stand up.

The goblin at the desk looked up at Tempest as she approached.

"Afternoon," she said. "I'm wanting to get a withdrawal method linked to the Potter vault. My vault? I'm Tempest."

The goblin's small, beady eyes inspected Tempest, then fell on George, who stood a pace behind her, rocking back on his heels as he waited. The goblin returned his gaze to Tempest, and indicated silently with one thin finger.

Tempest followed the motion, and spotted a small door set into the side of the hall. "Thank you," she said, and went with George through the door. The door opened soundlessly, and Tempest suppressed a shiver as she walked inside.

The room they were in was clearly a waiting area. The walls were paneled with wood, and small shaded lamps decorated the room. A large leafy plant stood in the corner, and there were plush lounge chairs.

George sank down in one. "I've only been back here once before," he said in a low tone, as though the walls were listening. "Mum made Bill take us for a look around, she thought it'd do Fred and I some good to see his 'proper job.'"

Tempest sat down next to him. "Worked then?" she asked, "you're all settled and planning for your 'proper job?'"

George puffed out his chest. "We're entrepreneurs," he declared, "forget Percy, he was meant to be the best of us, and he's still scraping after whatever Ministry twat's above him."

"So who's next?" said Tempest, "Bill? Bill with the bank job?"

George shrugged. "Probably," he said, "before he decided to let his hair go all long. I think even Fred and I are edging up in front of him now. Mum's got high hopes for Ron too, she's been hinting here and there about how much Bill loves his job here, trying to get him to take Ron for a tour as well."

"She mentions it in every letter," said a familiar voice, and Tempest and George looked up to see a tall, red-haired, freckled man standing beside the large leafy plant.

"Bill!" cheered George, rising to clap his brother on the arm. "Eavesdropping on us?"

"I'm paid to be here," said Bill dryly, he looked over at Tempest. "I heard you wanted to get a direct withdrawal."

Tempest crossed the room to shake his hand firmly. "I do," she replied. Seeing the hair again, up close, she wished she had taken a firmer stance against Mrs Weasley in defense of it. She wondered what he'd look like with a beard. "Don't let your mum sway you, keep the hair."

"Thanks," chuckled Bill, "shall I drag you away from my brother now?"

"Oh please," said Tempest empathetically, "he won't stop bragging about his success." Lower, she said conspiratorially, "he's saying your mum's starting to prefer him over you."

"Not in a thousand years," whispered Bill back, and held open a door Tempest hadn't noticed. "Come on, you're with Adnus, his office is this way."

"See you in a bit," Tempest said to George, and followed Bill out.

The door they stepped through melted away as soon as it closed behind them, and Bill led the way down a corridor thick with magically appointed silencing spells. Their shoes made no sound upon the marble floor, and when Tempest spoke, she heard herself as it from underwater. "So you just stopped by to say hi?"

"Wanted a word away from the rest of the family," replied Bill. He seemed to be slowing his steps to draw out the distance. "The bugger finally asked you out?"

"Don't let your mother hear," said Tempest.

Bill snickered, "too late for that. How many people knew to begin with? Fred? Ron? After we knew dad would be okay, word got out immediately. Then you and-" Bill ' _hmm hmmed_ ' Sirius's name, "vanished in the middle of the day, and I might've hinted to George he was the one to scare you off in the first place."

"That was your fault?" exclaimed Tempest.

"Oh he was plenty on the way there himself, I just gave him a nudge in the right direction."

"Forget the twins," scowled Tempest, "you're a bloody menace, you are. Your mum's been rather calm though, I didn't even know she knew."

"She's been on her best behaviour," said Bill, "we made sure of it- we Weasleys stick together, you know." He stopped before a stretch of blank wall, and it turned into a door. "Here we are."

Before Tempest could step forward though, a hand on her arm stayed her.

Bill was looking very meaningfully down at her. "All of us," he said.

"Thanks," said Tempest, and did not think of Percy Weasley. She entered the office.

There was a large desk dominating the room, dwarfing the goblin that sat behind it. Towering piles of parchment stood on the surface of the desk, from between which there was a narrow strip of wood free of clutter, allowing a clear line of sight between the goblin and the chair sat in front of the desk.

The goblin- Adnus, Tempest recalled, looked up at her with his small black eyes.

"Miss Potter," he greeted, waving a hand in the direction of the chair. "I understand you wish to obtain one of our direct withdrawal purses."

"I would," confirmed Tempest, taking a seat. "I've only just found out about them."

The goblin made a sound of recognition. Rather than looked diminished behind the large desk and the overwhelming amount of paperwork, he looked quite at home. "Before I can retrieve the requisite forms, I shall require some form of identification."

Tempest bit back a smile. "Of course." She reached for her wand.

But it seemed Adnus had no interest in taking it. "Blood, Miss Potter, we require blood."

Tempest retracted her wand, looking over at him. "How did you want it?" she asked. "A knife, or something?" She eyed a letter opener on the desk.

Adnus leant to the side, and from a drawer in his desk, he produced a long quill feather, and offered it to Tempest. A piece of blank parchment appeared on the desk, facing her. He did not move to give her ink.

Nausea filled Tempest, but she took the blood quill in her right hand, placing the nib to the parchment. Though healed, she couldn't help watching the patch of discoloured skin on the back of her hand as she prepared herself.

"Sign your full name, please."

Tempest clenched her jaw, and wrote.

 _Tempestas Lily Potter_ appeared in shining red letters on the parchment, and at the same time, identical thin, scalpel-like cuts were traced into the back of her hand. For a moment, her name shimmered wetly, stark against the parchment. Then, the name sank into the paper, and vanished without a trace.

The parchment glowed silver, and the whole piece disappeared as well.

"Verified," the goblin said, sounding satisfied. Tempest gave him the quill back, unable to hide her distaste. "A security measure, I am sure you understand."

Tempest nodded. "So the forms-"

"Here," Adnus snapped his fingers, and then there was another stack of parchment on the table before Tempest. "Read through these. When you are done, fill in the form at the bottom." Another snap of his fingers, and a quill- this time with inkpot- appeared beside the papers.

Tempest had first heard of the direct withdrawals from Sirius. It was how he had been able to access his funds in the Black vaults without personally visiting Gringotts. He carried a small leather pouch from which he could withdraw any sum he chose. Foreign exchange was possible, though there was a longer wait time. The best feature however, was it was entirely unregulated.

One leather pouch heavier, Tempest left the office and rejoined George. The pair exited Gringotts back out into Diagon Alley, and from there, back onto the freezing streets of London.

"So," said George, clapping his hands together. "Lunch!"

They walked to Covent Garden, admiring all of the market stalls and street performers, before stepping into _The Harp._ They had steak pie, several sausages, and a pint of beer. (George had a pint, Tempest had been perfectly content with non-alcoholic cider.) The steak pie was amazing, the pint fine, but the sausages…

"I've died," declared Tempest, putting down her fork and slumping back in her chair. "I've died, and there's nothing left in this world for me."

George seemed of a similar mind. Beneath his jumper, he surreptitiously loosened his belt, and drained the rest of his beer with a groan of satisfaction. He belched, a motion that Tempest followed seconds after. They looked at each other, and broke out laughing.

Still giggling slightly, they paid and left, stumbling outside and clutching at each other for support. George massaged his stomach. "Bollocks to walking," he groaned, rewrapping his scarf around his neck. "Let's find a quiet alleyway and I'll apparate us back."

Tempest looked around, and spotted a line of parked cars near the curb. "I've a better idea," she said. "You've never been on a motorbike before, have you?"

George hadn't.

Twenty breathless minutes later, Tempest and George rumbled to a stop at the end of Grimmauld Place, and George unwrapped his arms from Tempest's waist, wobbling a bit as he got off.

"Merlin," he gasped, "you bank about as hard on that thing as you do on your broom."

Tempest laughed, tugging George's helmet off his head, and dispensing with hers as well. She made sure no one was looking, and shrunk the bike down. "Do you think we lost Mundungus on our way?"

"We definitely lost something," said George, shaking his head.

Tempest dug deep into her pockets to find the bag of toffees they had brought before, and offered George one for his nerves. He bit into it vigorously, making gnashing noises as he did so.

"Don't act so superior," said Tempest. "I've seen you drive your dad's car. It's nothing short of a miracle that you're still here to complain about _my_ driving."

George guffawed, and they stomped up the steps to number 12, the door swinging open easily at Tempest's touch.

A wave of warmth crashed over them as they stepped through the threshold, and Tempest and George began the process of unwinding scarves from their persons and ridding themselves of all their excess layers. Tempest handed off the toffees to George, who went off to his shared room with Fred to stow away their purchases for the trip to Hogwarts.

Tempest headed down to the kitchen for a cup of tea.

She had barely gone three steps down the stairs when she heard raised voices. One was Sirius', and the other was-

" _-not content to hide inside your mother's house, you take a vacation, a convicted criminal gadding about with no thought to the consequences. Your high talk of Potter's safety appears to be factitious-_ "

Snape. Tempest quickened her pace.

" _She's my fucking goddaughter- don't you fucking dare act like you give a shit about her, you greasy git!_ "

" _-while some of us are conducting important business for the Order, others are serving no purpose-_ "

Sirius and Snape were standing opposite one another across from the long kitchen table, glaring at each other. Tempest's arrival made the two grind to a halt, their loud voices petering out, until it was only Sirius scowling at Snape with blatant dislike, while Snape turned to look at Tempest, the traces of a sneer still evident on his face.

"Miss Potter."

"Er," said Tempest eloquently, looking from Sirius to Snape, then back again, "I was getting a cup of tea. Either of you want some?"

Sirius scoffed loudly. "Don't offer him a damn thing, Tempest, he'll be going soon."

Snape's sneer grew more pronounced. He ignored Tempest's offer altogether. "I have no desire to remain in your… house, for any longer than I must. Dumbledore has sent me to speak with you, Potter," he declared.

Tempest looked at Sirius, hoping for more information. Other than the ugly look on his face, it gave no insight. "Right."

"I was supposed to see you alone," said Snape, his eyes flickering in Sirius's direction.

"Right," said Tempest. How long had Snape been here, and how long had the pair lasted in the same room before their argument had begun? "I was out, sorry, er, what is it about?"

Again, Snape's eyes washed in Sirius's direction, before refocusing, cold and flat, on her. "In _private,_ Miss Potter."

"I'm her godfather," said Sirius loudly.

"I am here on Dumbledore's orders," said Snape, his voice becoming waspish, "a fact which like so many others, seems unable to permeate your thick skull, Black."

"Sirius, I'm sure I can manage on my own," said Tempest quickly, seeing Sirius's hand twitch toward his pocket. "I'll be right up after, yeah?"

Sirius lingered, fists clenching at his sides, but finally, he gave Tempest a jerky nod, and left the kitchen, pointedly leaving the door open at the top of the stairs. Tempest was left alone with Snape.

"The headmaster has sent me to tell you, Potter, that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term."

Tempest blinked at Snape. "I- Like an extra subject? Is anyone else taking this class, this… Occlumency?"

"The magical defense of the mind against external penetration," said Snape blandly. "You are the only one the headmaster has deemed it necessary to have these classes.."

"I'm not being possessed though," said Tempest hurriedly. "I've checked with Ginny, unless…" her heart began to beat very fast. "Does Dumbledore think otherwise?"

"The headmaster thinks it best that you are prepared," said Snape smoothly, doing nothing in the way of making Tempest feel better. "You will receive lessons once a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?"

"Of course," said Tempest. "I can tell people in the Order though, can't I? Sir?" she added quickly.

Snape's lip curled. "You may tell your mongrel relations, little help though they may be on the subject."

Tempest gritted her teeth. "Right."

"I will expect you at six o'clock on Monday evening, Potter. My office. If anyone asks, you are taking additional potions classes for prospective employment."

"You'll be teaching me?" said Tempest, not quite able to hide the mild horror in her voice.

Snape sneered. "I assure you, I did not beg for the job." He gathered his black travelling cloak around him and swept across the kitchen to the door.

Remembering that Sirius was probably waiting right outside, Tempest hurried after him, but by the time she had gotten to the top of the stairs, Sirius was distracted by the entire Weasley family and Hermione, while Snape had gone.

Snape quickly fled Tempest's mind though, as she became aware of who was in the thick of the redheads, dressed in a pair of striped pajamas and a mackintosh. "Cured!" announced Mr Weasley, beaming, spotting Tempest in the doorway of the kitchen. "Completed cured!"

The bad news of a moment ago hadn't a patch on this. Tempest was beaming without knowing it, and she immediately crossed the hallway to take Mr Weasley's hand and shake it thoroughly. "I'm so glad you're better, thank Merlin, you look great, really great!"

"Doesn't he?" said Mrs Weasley, leading her husband, and therefore his entire entourage through the door and into the sitting room. She sat him down in a chair and began fussing around with a blanket. "Healer Smethwyck worked his magic in the end, found an antidote to whatever that snake's got in its fangs, and Arthur's learned his lesson about dabbling in Muggle medicine, _haven't you dear?_ " she added, rather menacingly.

Over Ginny's head, Tempest mouthed a question at George. He edged over to her, and whispered in her ear, "happened while you were gone. Dad experimented with muggle 'stiches,' they ended up dissolving into him, Mum was pissed."

Tempest whistled lowly.

"I saw Snape leave," said George, "what did he want?"

"I'm getting extra potions lessons," replied Tempest. She saw the appalled look on George's face. "Yeah I'm not looking forward to them, being just me and Snape, but I've got to take them to get a leg up for a job or something."

"You're getting private lessons?"

Ron had overheard, and he popped up at George's elbow, looking just as concerned at the idea as his brother. Hermione poked her head in as well, but looked quite impressed.

"Oh, Tempest, that's good news, isn't it? That Professor Snape would offer you extra lessons?"

"Er, maybe," said Tempest. She caught Sirius's eye, and he tilted his head toward the door. "Excuse me."

"Occulmency," said Tempest, as soon as they were out of the room. "Dumbledore wants to get me to learn it so Voldemort can't push inside my head."

Sirius nodded, then shook his head. "And it has to be _Snape_ to teach you?"

"I suppose so," said Tempest, wincing at the idea. "I'm sure he's about as pleased about it as we are. It's a good thing though, right? Even if I'm not being possessed, I can stop having this connection with Voldemort."

Sirius's brow knitted. "Come on."

He led the way up the stairs and into his room, where he then crouched down and began digging through the contents of one of his bedside drawers.

Sirius's room looked much the same as Tempest assumed it must have when he was her age. He had left Grimmauld Place when he was sixteen, she knew, and since they had moved back in, he had not redecorated. There were still Gryffindor banners hanging proudly if lopsidedly around the room, posters of motorbikes, cars and scantily clad girls on the walls. (There were no scantily clad men; Tempest couldn't imagine a very civil conversation between Sirius and his parents if they had walked in to see proof of Sirius's other inclinations.) Tempest suspected the posters must have been stuck with permanent sticking charms, or his mother would have removed them years ago.

The room wasn't exactly tidy, and Tempest could smell stale alcohol in the air, getting stronger when she stepped closer to the bed to see what Sirius was looking for. There was a stack of old textbooks Sirius had shoved out of the way and to the side, and a pair of old Quidditch robes he threw over his shoulder.

Sirius made a noise of triumph, and pulled his prize from the drawer.

"Here we are!"

It was a mirror, and Tempest took it bemusedly, eyeing her reflection, before turning it over in her hands. She raised her eyebrows. "I know what I look like already, thanks."

"Hilarious," said Sirius dryly. "It's a two-way mirror. If Snape starts giving you a hard time in these lessons, I want you to tell me, and I'll do something about it."

"Oh no, no, no, no," said Tempest, giving the mirror back immediately. "I'm not having you risk your neck appearing near Hogwarts for anything, it's too risky."

Sirius shoved the mirror right back at her. "Never mind my neck. The way he's treated you in the past, there's no way he won't be using this opportunity to have a go at you."

Tempest took the mirror and dropped it on the bed. "Sirius, the worst Snape's ever done is insult me a bunch. I don't like it, I grant you, but I'll manage a bit of unpleasantness."

"Take the mirror!" insisted Sirius, seizing the mirror and trying to force it on her. "If Snape's going to be teaching you how to keep Voldemort out of your head, it means he's going to be mucking around with your head as well! You need to tell me if he does anything to hurt you-"

"You won't be able to do anything anyway!" said Tempest, frustrated, "what's the point in you knowing?"

Sirius's face shuttered. The hand holding the mirror dropped.

"I'm sorry," said Tempest instantly, "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean it like that-"

Sirius shrugged. "It's true," he said, "but I worry about you. Constantly. Twelve years in Azkaban, the moments when I could think at all, I wondered how you were."

Tempest felt like she'd swallowed a rock.

"I'm really, really sorry-"

"I know you're capable, and I know you're strong, but I worry anyway. I don't think I'll ever stop. Even if I can't do anything."

"Sirius-"

Sirius wouldn't meet her eyes. "You don't need to take the mirror," he said, "but I'd worry less if you did."

He slid out of the room before Tempest could stop him, and she stayed there, feeling like the worst person who had ever lived.

She took the mirror, went into her own room, and buried it deep in her wardrobe. She stood there, breathing sharp and fast, until she no longer felt compelled to hit something, and she closed the door very firmly.

Sirius was in Buckbeak's room when Tempest found him, and he barely raised his head to acknowledge her when she approached. She bowed carefully, and when Buckbeak returned the motion, she came to stand directly in front of Sirius, so he had no option but to look at her.

"Teach me to apparate," she said.

"What?"

"Apparate. So instead of you endangering yourself by coming to me, I'll be able to come to you," said Tempest. "You think I don't worry any less about you?"

Sirius finally met her eyes. "You leave for Hogwarts tomorrow morning."

"Then we get started now," said Tempest. "I've apparated before- not well, but I have- and you taught me most of the spells that've saved my life in the past. You're a great teacher. Please?"

Sirius hesitated for a moment longer, a moment in which Buckbeak ruffled his feathers and nudged at Sirius's hand for food. Sirius lifted his hand to stroke down Buckbeak's neck. "All right," he said, "no need to flatter, Pest. How could I say no?"

* * *

The next morning, Tempest, Hermione and the Weasleys caught the Knight Bus to Hogwarts, escorted by Tonks and Remus. Tonks and the boys sat at the back, while Remus and the girls proceeded up to the second floor. Hermione and Ginny sat together a seat ahead, and Tempest and Remus squeezed in together behind them.

Before they had settled in properly, the Knight bus started off with a BANG, sending all the chairs sliding backwards. Tempest's chair fell over, and she had to clutch at Remus while it went. He righted her with a laugh, and together, they stared out the window. They were no longer outside Grimmauld Place, but speeding down a motorway.

"So I got you something," said Tempest, reaching into one of her jacket pockets and digging around for a moment. She withdrew a soft parcel, wrapped in festive red paper.

Remus took it. "You didn't have to."

"Well I wanted to," replied Tempest. "It's only a small something. Go on, open it."

Remus did so, and chuckled when he unraveled the scarf. It was a nice long and thick one, knitted out of merino wool, and personalized with bold white letters against the grey fabric: ' _My Other Half Is A Dog._ '

He draped it around his neck, and crumpled the paper with his other hand. "Thank you," he said. "I was in the kitchen earlier, I noticed the recent acquisitions. I must say they were inspired."

Tempest beamed. Her present for Sirius had been half a dozen cups and mugs in varying shapes and colours, all with large bold letters surrounding the body: _Tempest's Heart._

"Perhaps he'll think twice before breaking them in future," grinned Tempest, rubbing her hands together.

Remus laughed. "I could really have done with you on my side back when we were at Hogwarts," he said, "you would have whipped them right into line."

The Knight Bus rumbled on, screeching and tilting treacherously from side to side as it jumped about the country, until all too soon, it arrived in a snowy Hogsmeade, and rolled up to the gates of Hogwarts.

Remus and Tonks got off the bus with them to help with their luggage and say goodbye. Remus shook hands all around, coming to Tempest last. While the others crowded around Tonks, Remus withdrew a fraction, taking Tempest with him.

"I should say," he said, his voice lowered so that the Weasleys around them could not hear, "these lessons with Snape that you're having-"

Tempest was already groaning. "I'm trying not to think of those-"

"-they don't have to be that bad," Remus said, "I know you don't get on, and he's never liked us… we weren't too good to him either, back in our day." Tempest snorted. Whatever the past, after everything Sirius and Remus had gone through, they had suffered far beyond whatever grudges Snape bore them.

"But it doesn't mean these lessons have to be awful," continued Remus, speaking quicker now that the others seemed to be wrapping things up. "Lily seemed to like Snape, back in the day, they used to get on."

"My mum?" said Tempest bemusedly, but then Tonks was looking over at Remus, and he straightened, clasping Tempest on the shoulder, then moving off.

"Goodbye Tempest," he said, waving, Tempest was left to wave back, thinking very hard.

The next day, Tempest's morning Potions lesson was nothing out of the ordinary; Snape was unpleasant was usual, and it did nothing to alleviate her trepidation.

Members of the DA kept on approaching her in corridors between classes, asking hopefully if there would be a meeting that night.

"Check your coins," was all Tempest could say. She would've liked to kick off the new term with another meeting, see if they had been practicing, and who had been slipping. Instead: "I've an extracurricular potions lesson. I'll talk to Hermione, figure out Quidditch times and see if we can get one in before Friday."

"I don't envy you," said George at lunch, stealing spoonfuls of mash from Tempest's plate. "Extra classes with that bat."

"Well I think it's a very good sign," retorted Hermione. "It means he thinks you're worth the effort! And, well, especially seeing as it's-"

"-as it's me," finished Tempest with a pained smile. "Thanks Hermione. We'll see how it goes."

Deciding she shouldn't give Snape any additional ammunition, Tempest was outside his office door five minutes early that night, waiting until the second hand on her watch was almost on twelve, before knocking and entering.

Snape's office was a shadowy room lined with shelves bearing hundreds of glass jars in which floated potions of many colours. Some jars held plant matter and animal bits suspended inside. All the jars were likely to have protective charms over them, as would the cupboard of ingredients that stood in the corner.

On Snape's desk, illuminated by a pool of candlelight, there was a shallow stone basin engraved with runes and symbols: Dumbledore's Pensieve. Last Tempest had looked into it, it had been filled with memories that Dumbledore had been storing in it. Now, it was empty.

She wondered if she'd be asked to take all her memories concerning the Order, and stow them away in the bowl.

"Shut the door behind you, Potter."

Snape had been standing in the shadows at the corner of the room, and Tempest did as she was bid quickly, turning back to see Snape moving into the light. He was pointing silently at the chair opposite his desk.

Tempest sat down, and so did Snape.

She instinctively placed her bag square in her lap, as though it were an additional barrier between she and him. He and her mum had used to get on? Tempest tried to picture it. She failed.

Snape's cold black eyes were fixed unblinkingly upon Tempest, dislike etched in every line of his face.

"Well, Potter, you know why you are here," he said, "the headmaster has asked me to teach you Occlumency."

Tempest nodded, waiting.

"As I told you back in your dear godfather's kitchen, this branch of magic seals the mind against magical intrusion and influence."

Tempest nodded again. A thought occurred to her. "I appreciate this," she said quickly, "I wish I never had this connection with Vold-" Tempest saw the abrupt shift in Snape's expression, and quickly corrected herself. "You-Know-Who, but it- the visions- they've been useful. It's not… a great feeling, but I was able to tell people about Mr Weasley being attacked, so, if… I could keep an eye on the inside, without him getting into _my_ mind… wouldn't that be better?"

Snape stared at Tempest for a few moments, tracing his mouth with one long, thin finger as he did so. Tempest grew increasingly uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny.

"Unfortunately that option no longer exists," said Snape finally. "It appears the Dark Lord was unaware of the connection between you and himself until very recently. Up till now it seems that you have been experiencing his emotions and sharing his thoughts without his being any the wiser. However, the vision you had shortly before Christmas represented such a powerful incursion upon the Dark Lord's thoughts while he was possessing the snake Nagini, that he has become aware. He has deduced that the process is likely to work in reverse, and may be able to access your thoughts and feelings in return-"

"He could control me?" asked Tempest, very, very cold. "Possess me?"

"It is a possibility," said Snape, sounding cold and unconcerned. "And so you will be unable to observe his doings without in turn leaving the door open for him to do the same."

Tempest sucked in a breath. She had been so relieved that she hadn't been possessed; only to now find out that it was still a possibility. _It'll be fine,_ she told herself, _I'm back at Hogwarts, so clearly Dumbledore thinks it's safe for me to be around the other students again. I'm learning this Occulmency, things will be fine. Sirius needn't have worried at all._

Snape pulled out a wand from an inside pocket of his robes, and Tempest tensed, gripping her bag tighter with one hand, and fingers flexing for her wand with the other. But Snape directed the wand toward himself, and began to withdraw some strange silvery substance from his head. It broke away and fell gracefully into the Pensieve, where it swirled silvery white, neither gas nor liquid. Snape repeated the motion twice, then picked up the Pensive carefully, removed it to a shelf out of the way, and returned to face Tempest with his wand held at the ready.

"Stand up and take out your wand, Potter."

Tempest got to her feet and set her bag aside. She felt very out of sorts, her limbs all disjointed. They faced each other with the desk between them.

"You may use your wand to attempt to disarm me, or defend yourself in any other way you can think of," said Snape.

Tempest's grip on her wand was sweaty. Was Snape about to attack her? In what way? Would a _Protego_ work? Should she begin casting now, before he made any motion to do so? "What are you going to do?"

"I am about to attempt to break into your mind," said Snape softly.

 _Oh shit._

Abruptly, it occurred to Tempest one thing that Snape should not know, one thing that if he did know, would spell absolute disaster for her, Sirius, and certainly Remus. The same sort of secret that Tempest held against Rita Skeeter…

Buck.

"…brace yourself, now… _Legilimens!_ "

Snape struck before Tempest was ready, before Tempest had even managed to twitch her wand up. Her only thought was of 'no,' and of 'no' again. The office swam in front of her eyes and vanished, image after image racing past her eyes, a flickering film of memories she had no control over-

 _No, no, no, no, no-_

Seven. Climbing a tree to escape Vernon, who was brandishing his fist at her, belt clutched in his other hand… Eleven. She was on the train, staring out the window, feeling so incredibly scared that the dream would end… Thirteen. She was tackling Sirius down a flight of stairs, the man who had sold her parents out to Voldemort... Thirteen. A hundred dementors were closing in on her beside the dark lake… Sirius was lying insensate beside her, and she was grasping his arm, trying desperately to cast a spell… Thirteen. A werewolf was howling in the distance, no, it stood not ten feet from her, yellow eyes glowing. She was thirteen… No. She was fifteen; Sirius was walking down the beach beside her, parcel of fish and chips held open between them. Fifteen. They were at the park, watching the children on the swings. Fifteen. Sirius was sitting with her in a dark sitting room, an arm around her shoulders, telling her about drowning.

 _GET OUT!_

Pain blossomed across the left side of Tempest's face, and her eyes opened a moment before she crashed down onto the ground. She lay there a moment, eyes wide and unseeing at the slabs of stone beneath her, before she slowly pushed herself up to stand, head still pounding.

Snape had lowered his wand and was instead repairing what looked like burn marks across the surface of his desk. His robes were smoking slightly.

"Did you mean to produce an _Incendio?_ " asked Snape coolly.

Tempest looked at the desk. She must have fallen- lost her balance. From Snape's spell, or from her own, she wondered. "No," she replied.

"I thought not," said Snape contemptuously. "You let me get in too far. You lost control."

"And you saw everything I did?"

"Flashes of it," said Snape, his lip curling. "You are very fond of your godfather."

Tempest flushed.

"Well, for a first attempt that was not as poor as it might have been," said Snape, raising his wand once more. "You managed to stop me eventually, though you wasted time and energy shouting 'no.' You must remain focused. Repel me with your brain and you will not need to resort to your wand." He leveled his wand at Tempest.

"Wait!" said Tempest desperately. She understood now why Snape had used the Pensieve just before. "Can't I- couldn't I set some of my memories aside? Private ones?" _All of them?_ "Like you did?"

Snape lowered his wand. He looked at Tempest calculatingly.

"No," he said eventually, his eyes sparkling maliciously. "The Dark Lord shall not wait until you are comfortable to attack. Nor is it conducive to your learning. Consider it incentive to repel my attack. I assure you there is little in your mind I wish to see."

Tempest swallowed, hating Snape in that moment. "Then how can I repel you?" she asked tightly, "you said with my mind- with my mind how?"

"Close your eyes," said Snape, and Tempest threw him an incredulous look. There were few other things she would like less than to close her eyes around Snape. She shut them anyway.

"Clear your mind, Potter," said Snape's cold voice. "Let go of all emotion…"

But Tempest was far too on edge. Snape's voice hadn't moved, but he could be doing anything with his wand. It was too quiet in the office. Her leg twitched, and she could hear the shift of her shoe against the flagstones.

"You're not doing it, Potter… You will need more discipline than this… Focus, now…"

This wasn't working. Tempest's mind blew through several ranges of emotion, from anticipation, to fear, to anger, to frustration, and to desperation, none of them lessening their hold on her at all. How could her mum have possibly been friends with Snape? Perhaps Remus was mistaken. Her mum, by all accounts had been a lovely person, and being polite to Snape had probably been construed as friendliness- _Don't think._

It was the closest she could get- think of nothing, nothing. Not her mum, or her dad, certainly not Buck, not the full moon, not Sirius, only now her mind was filled with Buck, the full moon, Sirius, and the last nail in, all three at once.

"Let's go again… on the count of three… one- two- three- _Legilimens!_ "

Full moon. Everything was very, very slow, syrupy slow. Tempest could feel her head craning down, from the canopy of the trees to come across Sirius, his form wavering around the edges as he turned into Padfoot, and Tempest could feel herself changing as well, the colours of the clearing bleeding out, but the edges becoming sharper-

 _Think of something else-_

She was sitting outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, a lime sorbet cone already half consumed in her hand, while Malfoy had barely started on his… they were talking about flying… The Basilisk was rushing toward her, massive maw gaping, ready to kill her… She was flat on her stomach in the graveyard, watching as Cedric sprinted toward the Triwizard Cup…

 _Avada Kevadra!_

 _"_ _NO!"_

Tempest cracked her knees on the unforgiving floor of Snape's office, eyes watering and head pounding. Had it worked? Had Snape seen Buck? He had seen so much else now-

"Get up!" said Snape sharply. "Get up! You are not trying, you are making no effort, you are practically _throwing_ your feelings, your memories at me- contain yourself!"

Tempest stood, grasping onto the chair behind her for support. It must have worked, Snape must not have realised what he had been seeing at first, though now it seemed less like an achievement at all.

"It's a bit difficult- _sir,_ " said Tempest, holding tight to the chair to keep from wobbling. She blinked furiously, never having felt less able to contain her feelings than then.

"Then you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord," snarled Snape, "fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who cling to the past and allow themselves to be provoked this easily- _weak_ people, in other words- they stand no chance against his powers! He will barely need to _try,_ he will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!"

Tempest gritted her teeth. _Calm down, emotions, gone._ But the emotions stayed, and Tempest could've choked from anger. Her head hurt awfully, and she could still see green, green everywhere. If she had cared to notice, she might've seen that Snape looked paler than usual, and angrier as well.

Tempest shook her head. _Feel nothing, feel nothing._ She might have been failing with the emotions, but she had steered Snape away from the full moons… there was hope… _Feel nothing._ "Again."

" _Legilimens!_ "

It was worse.

Tempest was running through the shadowy passages of the maze on the night of the Third Task. Hedges morphed into a windowless passage drawing nearer and nearer to a plain black door at the end of the corridor… she did not go through it, but was thrown to the side by a dragon's tail, and Tempest looked up helpless as the Hungarian Horntail reared up before her, mouth glowing red with flame… She was looking into the Mirror of Erised, and her parents were waving out at her…

She was sitting in the Hospital Wing, being told that Sirius Black had been captured and would be subjected to the Dementors Kiss very soon… Voldemort was advancing upon her, while she lay on the ground, still wracked by the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse…

The flowers in the center of the dining table at number four, Privet Drive were beginning to brown and wilt. Nine-year-old Tempest extended questing fingers toward them, and Vernon drove his steak knife straight through the palm of her hand. Later that night, Tempest was locked into her cupboard, clutching her dishtowel wrapped hand to her chest, and outside, trampled into the dirt of the garden, lay several beautifully blooming flowers…

Tempest was shaking when she came back to herself.

She was again on the ground, hands and knees flattened against the floor. The air around her felt very thick, and suffocating. She fell back so that she was sitting, and dragged a hand down her face. "I-" she staggered to her feet. "I was about to try-"

"You were about to do nothing," snapped Snape, "save perhaps shout and flail about some more. We are done for the day. I want you back here same time on Wednesday, and we will continue work then."

He seemed angrier than Tempest had been, as though he had sucked all of her fury out and added it to his own.

Tempest's skin felt very clammy, and she wanted to run from his office. She would've done probably, if her legs hadn't felt like jelly.

"You are to rid your mind of all emotion every night before sleep- empty it, make it blank and calm, you understand?"

Tempest nodded, unable to trust her voice.

"And be warned, Miss Potter… I shall know if you have not practiced."

Tempest left the room as quickly as she was able.

In the hallway outside, Tempest slumped against the wall, feeling very ill. She looked down at her hands, which were shaking, and tried to force them to be still. They shook harder in defiance. Pressing a trembling hand to her mouth, Tempest tried to slow her breathing, then took off down the hallway.

To her great misfortune, the Gryffindor common room was packed with other students. Shrieks of laughter and excitement grated upon Tempest's ears as she edged her way around the room. Fred and George were demonstrating their latest bit of joke shop merchandise: Headless Hats.

Tempest could remember sitting with them at Grimmauld Place, experimenting with expanding the field of invisibility beyond the bounds of the hats. She had had some experience with doing it before- Sirius's bike used a similar spell. They must have finished the work on the hats in the time between them, and were putting on quite the show.

Tempest would have stopped to watch, only the pounding in her head had not abated, and it rivaled the worst of her headaches.

The sound of the common room became muffled and distant as Tempest went up the cool stone staircase to the girls' dormitories. She hoped no one would be up yet, and to her great relief, it was indeed empty.

She locked herself in the bathroom and turned the heat up in the shower to the highest setting. She shed everything and stepped into the stream of scalding water. Steam rose all around her, and Tempest stood there for a good five, ten minutes, trying to chase away the icy cold that had invaded her limbs.

When Tempest finally stopped shaking, and the ache in her head had subsided somewhat, she reached up for her towel, and in that moment, her head exploded in renewed pain, pain so severe that she thought someone must have swung an axe into her skull.

She didn't know where she was, whether she was standing or fallen, she couldn't even recall her own name…

but she was happy… wonderfully happy, manically happy… jubilant, ecstatic, triumphant… a wonderful thing had happened, she could have cackled with laughter, if there wasn't awareness of a sudden blow to her head…

Most of the pain receded, though her head still hurt, and Tempest came back to herself. Red swam before her eyes. She had fallen- for what felt like the thousandth time that day, and had collided with the wall of the shower, bruising herself badly.

Tempest prodded at herself tentatively, biting back a hiss of pain as her temple throbbed. She got up unsteadily and grabbed for the towel again.

Wrapped up in it, Tempest exited the bathroom. She staggered over to her trunk and removed the wards with a wave of her hand, wrenching it open and fumbling through for her potions chest.

She downed two vials of pain-relieving potion in quick succession and had to close her eyes against the wave of dizziness that crashed over her. When it passed, Tempest's head felt much clearer, and she shut her trunk with a flick of her wrist.

Lying back in bed, Tempest pressed the heels of her hands deep into her eye sockets and stayed there a while. It was not until she heard footfalls on the stairs leading to the dormitory, that she lowered her hands and sat up.

Hermione came through the door; her head still bent over some thick textbook, and did not notice Tempest immediately, giving her more time to compose herself. It was no use.

At the sight of Tempest's face, bruised and pale, Hermione gasped, dropping her textbook, her hands flying to her mouth. "Tempest! Oh my gosh, are you all right?"

"Fell," said Tempest shortly, turning away further and plumping her pillow. "Knocked my head against a wall."

"We should go down to Madam Pomfrey," said Hermione urgently, hurrying around Tempest's bed to get a clearer look.

Tempest shook her head quickly, then gritting her teeth at the motion. "Humiliating," she said. "I've taken some potions, the bruise should fade quite quickly-"

"Tempest," said Hermione, looking very worried indeed, "did this have anything to do with your lesson with Professor Snape?"

Tempest looked up sharply. "No."

But that only seemed to worry Hermione even more. She sat down beside Tempest, leaning in, "are you sure?"

"Very sure." Tempest was becoming increasingly glad she had not brought Sirius's mirror with her, because it was increasingly tempting to unburden all, the awful, awful feeling of having your memories wrenched out and sifted through… but she knew if there was anything that would quickly replace the painful throbbing in her head, it would be Sirius, chomping at the bit, wanting to tear Snape in two.

"I lied to you," said Tempest. "When I told you I was having extra potions lessons with Snape."

Hermione seemed to take this in stride, and sat down on Tempest's bed. "What are they really for?"

"To stop me from getting possessed in the future," sighed Tempest. The potions had worked a treat, but a persistent ache lingered behind her eyes. "Dumbledore's told Snape to teach me Occulmency. It's meant to stop it."

Hermione was nodding along, her brown furrowed. "And… is Occulmency violent?"

Tempest pressed her eyes shut. She wondered what an ideal Occulmency lesson would be like. Snape would point his wand at her, try to break into her mind… and she would just… not react? The closest Tempest had ever gotten to mind-magic had been meditating to discover her animagus form. But that had been the opposite of what Snape wanted. He had wanted her to feel nothing, whereas she had been trying to feel everything.

"It's not meant to be," said Tempest. "But I suppose I sort of lashed out when Snape was mucking around in my head."

Hermione grimaced in sympathy. "It can't be nice," she said, "but it's to help you, right?"

"I'm shit at it, though," replied Tempest. "I couldn't do a thing to block him. Snape even said Voldemort would find it easy to get in, that he wouldn't even need to try."

"It was your first lesson," said Hermione reassuringly, "you'll get better."

Tempest remained unassured. "I don't know why Dumbledore let me come back to Hogwarts."

"Perhaps the threat isn't as imminent as you think, then," said Hermione slowly, "Hogwarts is protected after all, it has wards and spells, you can't apparate in, remember? So it must have some protections to make it harder for… for Voldemort to reach you."

 _He reached me fine without even meaning to when he was sending Nagini off to hurt Mr Weasley._ Tempest thought.

"He reached me fine five minutes ago when I fell. That was why. I was in the shower and all of a sudden I could feel… I could feel things that weren't mine. He's happy, Hermione. Something's happened that's made him horrifically happy, and _I know that_ because I can't keep him out of my head!"

It seemed, for once, Hermione had no answer to that.

Finally, she said: "He's happy?"

Tempest let out a short laugh. "Fucking frightening, isn't it? Do you think he got laid?"

"Tempest!"

Tempest laughed harder. "He probably murdered someone good. Merlin, I probably shouldn't laugh- _fuck._ "

"You really shouldn't laugh," agreed Hermione, but she was beginning to grin a bit as well. "Honestly, Tempest!"

"Do you remember when we killed that troll?" said Tempest.

"You did most of the work there," said Hermione. "I just screamed a lot."

"Distracted it for me," Tempest reminded her. "Ron was doing his fair share of screaming as well."

"It made me feel better," confessed Hermione. "Knowing that sort of thing wasn't ordinary."

Tempest smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Well I wish it weren't." Then, "don't tell anyone about the Occulmency, alright?"

Hermione shook her head in compliance, but continued to look worried. "Does anyone else know? Apart from me?"

Tempest thought about the mirror that Sirius had tried to give her, tucked away in the back of her wardrobe at home. Remus, taking the time to reassure her, telling her that somehow her mum had gotten along with Snape, so there was hope.

"Just Sirius and Remus," said Tempest.

Hermione nodded, unsurprised. "I'm happy that you've got family now. I know the last time we talked about it, I wasn't very supportive-"

 _...what you're looking for might not even exist._

"It doesn't matter."

"It does," insisted Hermione. "I'm glad that you've got them. "

"Thanks," said Tempest, and the lingering remnants of resentment that she had been carrying around ever since that conversation, faded away.

Hermione had opened her mouth to say something else when there were footsteps up the stairs, and Lavender appeared through the doorway, her hair looking quite frazzled. She spotted Tempest and Hermione sitting on their bed, and glared at them.

"Your boyfriend's started lighting fireworks downstairs," she said, scowling at Tempest. "They made them fly into my hair on purpose!"

Tempest bit back a smile and spread her hands helplessly. "I'll have a word?" she said, having no intention of doing any such thing.

Lavender huffed, and flounced into the bathroom, closing the door hard behind her.

Hermione stared after her. "They really shouldn't be letting those off inside the castle," she said. "That breaks so many rules. Ron's downstairs, he should be giving them detention!"

Tempest snorted. "He'd sooner serve detention himself. The rules are more like guidelines for the twins anyway."

"That's exactly the point! I should go down there myself!"

Hermione made to stand, but Tempest pulled her back down. "Leave it 'mione, they're having a good time. So's everyone else, if the crowd I saw coming up meant anything. What were you going to say just before Lavender came in?"

Hermione sat back down reluctantly. "We were talking about family," she said, "I suppose I'm just curious. You never really talked about what happened… why you left the Dursleys."

Tempest wished she had let Hermione go. "It's not a great subject."

"No, I wouldn't think so," said Hermione nervously. "I know they were awful, and I know they weren't good to you… but you've never really mentioned what happened. Now that you're ina better place, I wonder… do you want to talk about it?"

Tempest really wished she had let Hermione go. If she had a time turner, she would have flipped back time and smashed their dormitory window as a distraction. Hid in the bathroom and jumped out at Lavender so that she'd scream and break up their conversation.

She was in a better place. So good, that she'd attempted to go and see them- a brilliant idea as it had turned out. It was amazing it hadn't been any worse.

But the reason she had left the Dursleys had little to do with them in the end. She hadn't thought so at the time, or for days afterward, but eventually, when she had understood, she hadn't wanted to go back anyway.

"No," said Tempest.

Hermione looked simultaneously disappointed, and relieved that Tempest hadn't taken offence. "That's fine," she said quickly, "whenever you want."

"Thanks," said Tempest, touching Hermione's hand briefly to show that there were no hard feelings. "Besides, I don't have time for the problems of the past. Let's deal with the present and future first."

* * *

 **MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS 'RALLYING POINT' FOR OLD DEATH EATERS**

 _The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban._

 _Speaking to reporters in his private office, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, confirmed that ten high-security prisoners escaped in the early hours of yesterday evening, and that he has already informed the Muggle Prime Minister of the dangerous nature of these individuals._

 _"_ _We find ourselves, most unfortunately, in the same position we were two and a half years ago when the murderer Sirius Black escaped," said Fudge last night. "Nor do we think the two breakouts are unrelated. An escape of this magnitude suggests outside help, and we must remember that Black, as the first person ever to break out of Azkaban, would be ideally placed to help others follow in his footsteps. We think it likely that these individuals, who include Black's cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Black as their leader. We are, however, doing all we can to round up the criminals and beg the magical community to remain alert and cautious. On no account should any of these individuals be approached."_

"…Antonin Dolohov, Bellatrix, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, Demetrius Mulciber the Second, Augustus Rookwood, and Godopholous Travers." George read from the paper. "Dolohov. He killed our uncles."

Ron was stabbing his breakfast eggs moodily with a fork. "Mum's going to have a right awful time this morning."

"At least dad will be with her," said Ginny, but she appeared to be in no better mood.

Tempest remained facedown, head resting against folded arms as the hum of breakfast conversation surrounded her. So this was what Voldemort had been celebrating. Ten of his worst free in the world… Sirius's cousin, the Longbottom's torturers, Mrs Weasley's brothers' murderer…

She lifted her eyes to look up at the staff table, and saw Dumbledore and Minnie deep in conversation, a copy of the newspaper spread out between them.

"Oh my-" Hermione sounded like she had found something else. There was the rustling of newspaper, and Ron's voice piped up. " _Bode_ … it rings a bell."

"We saw him at the hospital, remember?" Hermione whispered, "he was in the bed opposite Lockhart's just lying there, staring at the ceiling. And we saw the Devil's Snare arrive."

Tempest raised her head. "What is this?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. "We were visiting Mr Weasley at St Mungo's," said Hermione, "it was while you and," she ' _hmm hmmed_ ' Sirius's name, "were overseas. We were going up the floors and we ran into Lockhart- remember Lockhart?"

"I remember Lockhart," said Tempest, and she and Ron grimaced at the same time. "How is he?"

Ron shook his head, and Tempest felt even worse.

"Never mind then," she said.

"So while we were in the room, a healer was going around delivering Christmas presents," continued Hermione. "Bode got a pot plant. It was Devil's Snare." Hermione looked down at her newspaper. "He's dead now."

"He was a member of the Order," said Tempest quietly. The name had been familiar too, and now she had put a face to it. "Why was he in St Mungo's?"

"I don't know," said Hermione, scanning the paper again. "But he was in the 'Accidental Spell Damage' ward." She shoved the paper away from her abruptly and made a noise of frustration. "Why didn't I notice what was in the pot? I've seen Devil's Snare before, I should've said something-"

"Who expects Devil's Snare to turn up in a hospital disguised as a potted plant?" said Ron sharply. "It's not our fault. They must have been a real prat, why didn't they check what they were buying?"

"Oh come on, Ron!" said Hermione shakily, "I don't think anyone could put Devil's Snare in a pot and not realize it tries to kill whoever touches it? This- this was murder…" She pulled the paper back toward her, and folded it back to the front page, where the ten escaped Death Eaters jeered out in black in white.

"Tempest," she said abruptly, "why did Rita Skeeter stop writing those awful articles about you?"

Tempest looked at Hermione. "I found out she was an animagus. A beetle. Where's this coming from?"

"An _animagus?_ "

Tempest and Hermione shushed Ron quickly.

"That was how she was able to hear things she shouldn't have been able to hear," said Hermione wonderingly, "to get places she wasn't allowed to go."

"Yeah," said Tempest. "But it's been dealt with. What do you want with her?"

Hermione leant in. "How would you feel about an interview?"

Tempest mirrored her, so that they were bent over their breakfast plates. "I'll be honest, Hermione, not great. You're planning something."

"I'm going to write a letter," said Hermione, and leapt to her feet. "It's worth a try."

Ron looked after Hermione as she hurried out of the hall, bag swinging from her shoulder. "I hate it when she does that," he commented, "why is she writing a letter to Skeeter?"

Tempest stood up as well. "The Ministry is blaming the Azkaban breakout on Sirius, because even _now_ they won't say Voldemort's returned" she said. She slung her bag over her shoulder and cast an eye back at the newspaper headline, and the pictures beneath. "People are getting murdered by pot plants, and Voldemort's getting stronger and stronger. Hermione is doing what she thinks she can."

Ron followed Tempest's slower pace out of the Great Hall, and they ended up walking beside Hagrid, who was exiting the hall as well. Tempest noticed that he bore a new cut across the bridge of his nose.

"All righ', you two?" he asked, obviously trying to smile, but not quite managing it, with the way his face pulled this way and that.

"No, but you look worse," said Tempest tactfully. "What have you been doing?"

"Nothing, nothing," said Hagrid, waving them off. His massive hand narrowly missed concussing a frightened looking Professor Vector nearby. "Jus' busy, yeh know, usual stuff- lessons ter prepare- couple o'salamanders got scale rot- an' I'm on probation," he mumbled.

" _You're on probation?_ " said Ron very loudly, so that many students passing looked around curiously. Tempest punched him in the arm.

"Yeah," said Hagrid. "'S'no more'n I expected, ter tell yeh the truth. Yeh migh' not've picked up on it, bu' that inspection didn' go too well, yeh know... anyway," he sighed deeply. "Bes' go an rub a bit more chili powder on them salamanders or their tails'll be hangin' off 'em next. See yeh, Tempest... Ron..."

He trudged away, out the front doors and down the stone steps into the damp grounds. Tempest watched him go, fingernails, digging into her palms.

She slept fitfully that night. She had lain down in bed, with Nyx pressed reassuringly against her feet, shut her eyes, and tried to clear her mind of all emotion. Instead, she was treated to her festering frustration. She tossed and turned, trying to drive the thoughts away.

It had taken most of her willpower to remain in the dormitory after dark. Every fibre of her being had been urging her to escape the castle, to sneak out under cover of night, out into the Forbidden Forest, out past the anti-apparating wards, and to speak to Sirius.

But here she remained.

The little sleep Tempest got wasn't restful: flashes of Bellatrix Lestrange's face, pieces of the other escaped death eaters… even Sirius' face, from when he had first escaped from Azkaban. Hollow-faced and sunken-eyed. He had looked deranged. His cousin looked much the same.

The next day, even those who weren't regular readers of the Daily Prophet had had the chance to hear the news about the escaped death eaters. Rumors were flying that some of the convicts had been spotted in Hogsmeade. That they were going to break into Hogwarts, just as Sirius had done.

Those who came from Wizarding families had grown up hearing the names of the death eaters spoken with almost as much fear as Voldemort's; the crimes they had committed during the days of Voldemort's reign of terror were legendary. Like the Weasleys, there were relatives of victims among the Hogwarts students, who now found themselves the unwilling objects of a gruesome sort of reflected fame as they walked the corridors. Susan Bones, who had an uncle, aunt, and cousins who had all died at the hands of one of the ten, said miserably during Herbology that she now had a good idea what it felt like to be Tempest.

"And I don't know how you stand it, it's horrible," she said bluntly, dumping far too much dragon manure on her tray of Screechsnap seedlings, causing them to wriggle and squeak in discomfort.

Tempest shrugged, and began shoveling dung.

Perhaps it was wrong, but Tempest took some pleasure in seeing the seriousness in people's faces as they passed in the hallways. _This,_ it had been _this_ that she had been trying to make them feel, ever since Voldemort's return, she had wanted to force some _feeling,_ some knowledge into them all.

Now it was here.

People were talking about her as well. Along with the whispers about the Ministry's version of events, there were more that suggested the speakers weren't happy with the _Prophet's_ explanation. The how and the why were thin, and in their confusion and fear, the doubters seemed to be turning to the only other explanation given to them; the one that Tempest had been insisting since last year.

It was also common now to come across two or three teachers conversing in low, urgent whispers in the corridors, breaking off their conversations the moment they saw students approaching.

"They obviously can't talk freely in the staffroom anymore," said Hermione in a low voice, as she, Tempest, and Ron passed Minnie and Professors Flitwick, and Sprout huddled together outside the Charms classroom. "Not with Umbridge there."

"Reckon they know anything new?" said Ron, gazing back over his shoulder at the three teachers.

"Minnie says not yet," replied Tempest, "although, mind you, I'm having to sneak out at night to talk to her properly. With Umbridge's new fucking decree, we can't exchange more than a couple words in front of other people."

For new signs had appeared on the house notice boards that morning.

 ** _—_** ** _by order of —_**

 ** _The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts_**

 ** _Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information that is not strictly related to the subjects they are paid to teach._**

 ** _The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-six._**

 ** _Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge_**

 ** _High Inquisitor_**

This latest decree had been the subject of a great number of jokes. Lee Jordan had pointed out to Umbridge that by the terms of the new rule she was not allowed to tell Fred and George off for playing Exploding Snap in the back of the class.

When Tempest next saw Lee, the back of his hand was bleeding rather badly.

The breakout from Azkaban had only increased Umbridge's unpleasant presence in Hogwarts. With the catastrophe that had befallen her government, Umbridge seemed to be compensating by bringing every aspect of life at Hogwarts under her personal control. She was breathing down the necks of Trelawney and Hagrid in turn, seemingly intent on having one or the other sacked before long.

Tempest had no lost love for Trelawney, but Tempest would rather be subjected to reiterations of her death each Divination lesson, than have Umbridge _win._

Every single Divination and Care of Magical Creatures lesson was now conducted in the presence of Umbridge and her clipboard. She lurked by the fire in the heavily perfumed tower room, interrupting Trelawney's increasingly hysterical talks with difficult questions about Ornithomancy and Heptomology, insisting that she predict students' answers before they gave them and demanding that she demonstrate her skill at the crystal ball, the tea leaves, and the rune stones in turn.

Tempest suspected Trelawney would have a breakdown soon; several times Tempest passed her in the corridors, muttering wildly to herself, wringing her hands, and shooting terrified glances over her shoulder, all the time giving off a powerful smell of cooking sherry.

Hagrid unfortunately, was doing no better. He had finally downgraded the more interesting lessons to dull sessions where they studied creatures no more frightening than a crup, a creature indistinguishable from a Jack Russell terrier except for its forked tail. But like Trelawney, he also seemed to have lost his nerve.

He was oddly distracted and jumpy in lessons, losing the thread of what he was saying while talking to the class, answering questions wrongly and glancing anxiously at Umbridge all the time. He had forbidden Tempest from making late-night ventures to his cabin, making her unable to offer her support (such as it was) and talk him out of his brooding sessions.

"If she catches yeh, it'll be both of our necks on the line," he told her in a quiet moment, and Tempest listened.

She called a DA meeting as soon as she could.

There was an initial clamor when they all gathered, and an expectant look in the members' eyes when Tempest called the room to order. She was forced to address the elephant in the room.

"So you all heard the news," began Tempest. The mood in the room seemed more focused than usual. Like they weren't here for a lark. "I suppose all there is to say is… it's happened. This is the world we live in. Those ten that were in Azkaban… you know the stories. You've heard what they've done. Whether you believed me about Voldemort's return or not, whether you really think Sirius Black broke them out… there are ten more death eaters at large. So… practice hard. Keep an eye out. And don't be a name on an obituary list."

She clapped her hands together to break from her impromptu speech, and announced the lesson of the day. "Patronuses!"

There was excited muttering instantly. By Tempest's own accounts, they had several spells to go before the advanced charm… but there was no harm in starting early, and with recent events in mind, she figured the class could do with a buck up.

"The spell is ' _expecto patronum,_ '" said Tempest, "Now, Dementors are attracted to any and all emotions and feelings, but what they thrive off most is fear and despair. So the process of casting the spell is to think of something happy. Think of the happiest moment of your life, hold that in your mind when you cast. _Expecto Patronum…_ Off you go then!"

The room dissolved into the noisy chaos that always accompanied a new spell; less so than the stunners or disarming, but still a lot of wand-waving and yelling. No one was having much success, the best (Hermione and Terry Boot) only managing to produce faint wisps of silver mist.

Tempest wandered around issuing instructions, keeping an eye on the time. She didn't expect too much for a first go, hers hadn't been so good either, and she'd had a better teacher and a boggart to practice with. Still, the spells being cast did improve marginally in the time that they had.

Everyone was a way off from a corporeal patronus, but over the course of the hour everyone's wand began emitting silver mist, with Hermione managing a cloud of smoke that lingered for a second before vanishing, leaving her ecstatic.

 _Correction_ , Tempest thought, as she spotted Neville through a gap in the crowd, _almost_ everyone was producing silver mist.

She approached him, watching him cast the spell over and over to no effect, his grip on his wand tight and face growing more and more frustrated with each spell.

"Neville," she said as soon as she was close enough, "-Neville, loosen your grip on your wand, you're likely to snap it, holding it like that- and when you do, those wand shards are going to go straight through your hand, and let me tell you from experience; splinters of wood sticking out of the back of your hand _hurt._ "

Neville looked up at her, lowering his wand just a fraction. He had a hard sort of look in his face, and he was flushed and sweaty. Tempest saw an incredibly familiar light in his eyes.

" _Expecto Patronum_ isn't the sort of spell you can just force out the same way as a stunner or blasting spell," said Tempest quietly, taking out her own wand. "You genuinely have to feel that happiness- don't try again- not yet, not so soon, just think about one moment when you were completely, totally happy."

Neville's brow creased as he focused, then he spoke: "what do you think of?"

"Cup of tea," said Tempest, "my cat, nice afternoon in the sun. It's always hardest the first time you cast it."

Neville looked at her, and Tempest was reminded why she had never become particularly close to him.

"What did you think of the first time you managed to cast your patronus?"

 _What did I think of?_ Tempest twisted her wand between her fingers.

It had been third year. Remus had told her to think of something happy… and she had tried, become frustrated, none of her 'happy' memories were working… Until Minerva McGonagall had come to mind. She had been wearing a ridiculous witches' hat, offering a glove dripping with rain, standing in a puddle, and telling Tempest- ten years old and homeless, that she could stay with her.

"I thought about home," said Tempest. "Come on, try again."

" _Expecto Patronum!_ " said Neville, and a spire of silver smoke appeared and vanished almost instantly. It was better than his previous efforts, but he stared down at his wand with an expression of disgust.

"It gets easier," reassured Tempest.

Neville didn't return her smile. "You saw the paper. You know who escaped." He said, voice barely louder than a mumble. "I can't afford to be _me- Expecto Patronum!_ –anymore."

Tempest watched the disheartening silver dissipate. "I know who escaped," she said quietly. "For what it's worth though... I don't think your parents would want you to be anyone other than you."

Neville shrugged, and tried to cast a patronus again. This time, the silver was so weak, Tempest barely saw it before it was gone.

"I mean… who else are you going to be?"

Tempest left before she could say anything worse.

* * *

Tempest's Wednesday night meeting with Snape went no better than the first. It was probably worse, as not once was she able to repel his attack, held entirely at his mercy while he tore through her mind, only free when he withdrew and proceeded to yell at her for her incompetence.

Tempest _was_ trying. Only she was trying slightly harder to keep Snape away from compromising memories. By some miracle, _that_ she was managing. In all other areas, she was failing, utterly and completely. She could not block Snape from her mind, she could not reach her limbs to make a defensive move in the physical realm, and it was already taking all of her energy to steer him away from the things that she didn't want him to see.

Snape, unaware that Tempest was doing anything at all, had reached the conclusion that Tempest must not be putting any effort in at all, and with every lesson, grew more and more unpleasant.

His worsening mood, coupled with Tempest's exhaustion, resulted in constant headaches that even potions couldn't alleviate. She continued to have dreams about the Department of Mysteries, dreams which she was becoming increasingly certain were not her own…

It had to be Voldemort. Voldemort knew they were keeping something there, and his curiosity must have been bleeding over into her dreams. Tempest hardly needed Snape to snarl the facts at her- she knew that as much as she could keep away from Snape's prying eyes, she could probably keep specific memories away from Voldemort… but it wouldn't impede his access to her at all.

Tempest wished she hadn't confided in Hermione, who now understood the reason why Tempest looked increasingly worn out each morning after her late night lessons, and was full of sympathetic platitudes, which rang increasingly hollow.

"Merlin, you look down," said George. It was the end of the latest DA meeting, and Tempest was leaning against a wall, watching the other members leave in their usual twos and threes. Every now and then, she looked down at the Marauders' Map to make sure their paths were still clear.

"Accurate then," quipped Tempest. "I'd hate to think I was being dishonest."

George slid across the wall till he was leaning beside her, their arms pressed together. "You'd hate to think you were, or you'd hate to be?" he asked, looking at Tempest pointedly.

It took Tempest all of a second to catch on. She sighed heavily. "Hermione told you then?"

George's expression was answer enough, and Tempest scanned the Room of Requirement angrily, annoyed to see that Hermione had already left. "I specifically told her not to tell anyone!"

"She was worried," said George with a shrug.

"It wasn't hers to tell," said Tempest irritably.

George sighed, watching the last members of the DA leave, and then they were alone in the room. "Give me some credit, I did think it was strange that Snape would give you private lessons- or that you'd want them, job or no job. Still, that's what you told me they were, and I trusted you."

"Sorry," said Tempest, rather lamely. Too exhausted to care enough, her annoyance with Hermione quickly faded. "For lying. I suppose I just really didn't want to talk about it. Especially not with your dad just getting out of hospital."

"It's fine," George got off the wall and waved off the apology. "It is your business… only, I wish you would trust me with that sort of stuff. You don't need to go it alone."

"I did tell Sirius and Remus," said Tempest defensively, straightening off the wall as well.

"But I'm a bit closer to home," said George. "I'm here. I'm right here."

Tempest eyed George's feet, planted firmly in front of her, and his arms spread wide, to indicate the truthfulness of his physical presence. She laughed a bit. "I do appreciate it, George," she said, "look, I'll try to be more open in future."

She made to walk past him, but George failed to move out of the way, and Tempest stopped short of bumping into him. "What?"

"I was thinking," said George, and placed his hands on Tempest's shoulders.

She looked at them. They were very large, with broad palms and long fingers. She could see blue veins on the back, stretching from beneath his knuckles to his wrists. She looked up at his face questioningly.

" _More_ thoughts?" she said, "blimey, you're going all out today."

George's expression was anticipatory. "Thought's _and_ actions. I'm a man of many talents." He stepped in closer, and his hands shifted closer to her collar. Tempest's eyes flickered down to them, then back up. She was very aware of how close they were.

"I'd have to evaluate said actions," murmured Tempest, speaking softly now. With the space narrowing between them, anything louder would have been tantamount to yelling, which really wasn't polite…

And now George was leaning in, intent shining in his eyes, and Tempest fancied she could see freckles on the skin beneath his eyebrows with how close he was getting. She was breathing very lightly, not wanting to exhale right on George's face, it didn't seem the done thing…

"Evaluate this."

George kissed her; or rather, his mouth landed on hers, and Tempest shut her eyes belatedly. He had shut his, so she figured hers should be shut as well, and so she remained, frowning slightly at the fumbling, open-mouthed, rather damp experience.

George seemed to sense the frown, and he leaned back- back and up, and Tempest had always been taller than most, but George was taller still, and she found herself reaching out to bring him back down. They ended in an awkward embrace, George's hands now clasped around her upper arms, while she had one hand loosely curled around his neck.

"I was wanting to do that for a while," George was saying, looking rather worried. "It felt like the right moment- er, was it? I was mostly joking when I said evaluate- but I've never really done it before, so, er, what d'you think?"

Tempest blinked at him. George was usually so assured. She had always seen he and Fred as rather flighty. Above it all; ready with a joke, always laughing. They were, on the whole, _happy_ people. And for some reason, George had decided his currency for happiness was _her._

"I think we should do it again," said Tempest, and leant up.

* * *

The fourteenth of February fell serendipitously on the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year. Tempest had always found the date slightly ridiculous- if a day was to be made to celebrate love and affection, it should surely be a personal, unique date with particular meaning to the celebrators. Valentines was instead a commercial creation with a hollow justification, and the imposition of expectations regarding the arbitrary display of love through flowers and chocolates., irrespective of any true regard.

So said Tempest on the morning of the day, and George chuckled.

"You could've just said you didn't want flowers," he said around a mouthful of toast, "no fear. Normal date, down at the village, doesn't make it special at all."

Tempest grinned at him. "Acceptable."

George then stole his next piece of toast off Tempest's plate, and chomped down on the meticulously spread jam before Tempest could protest. Glaring at him, Tempest failed to notice Hermione trying to get her attention, until the girl flicked her on the nose.

"Ow! What?"

Hermione was holding a letter; an unfamiliar brown owl perched close by. "This is really important," she said, "do you think you could meet me in the Three Broomsticks around midday?"

"Probably," said Tempest, and looked over at George, who shrugged. "Yeah sure, we'll be there. It gets a bit crowded for lunch, but that's fine."

Hermione rushed out a, "great," and then she was rushing off down the hall with the post owl following close behind.

Ron slid into her spot a moment later, looking despondent. "Where's she run off to?" he asked tiredly.

"Something important probably," shrugged Tempest. "You heading down to Hogsmeade with us?"

Ron shook his head dejectedly. "Can't. Angelina wants a full day's training. Like it's going to help- we're the worst team I've ever seen. You should see Sloper and Kirke, they're pathetic. Worse than I am."

"You're not bad," reassured Tempest. She looked pointedly at George, who added in his own reluctant: 'you're not the worst.' "There you are," she continued. "Cheer up. George and I'll bring you back some stuff from Honeydukes."

The offer didn't seem to cheer Ron much, but Tempest was less willing than usual to coddle Ron's self-pity. His biggest concern was playing a good game. Hers, was Voldemort worming his way into her head. George likely was having similar thoughts, though his reasoning followed the injustice that Ron was allowed to play where he wasn't.

When the remainder of Tempest's toast was gone- some down into her gullet, and most taken by George's thieving hands, they threw on their coats and jackets, and joined the queue of people being signed out of the castle by Filch.

With Filch in the distance, Tempest practically bounded down the path. It was a fresh, breezy sort of day, with the sun emerging from behind thick clouds. George's steps were lighter as well, and they kept up a good pace together.

"So, where'd you want to go first?" asked George, expectantly.

Tempest shrugged. "Just our usual wander around works. That thing about broken things and not fixing them."

"My dad would disagree with you there," said George. "He never met something he didn't want to improve. Look at the car."

"The flying was great," conceded Tempest, "The invisibility, not so much. Has he gotten his hands on another one?"

George nodded empathetically. "Hides it out in the barn. He wants to get dragonfire out of the exhaust, so it won't be long till mum finds it anyway."

"Points for effort," grinned Tempest. "He does some great stuff." A thought occurred to her. "Your tinkering genes didn't just spring from nowhere, then."

George looked quite offended at the idea that his propensity for creations was not birthed purely from his own mind. "How dare you say such things," he protested, "Fred and I sprang from the ground eighteen years ago with entirely original ideas, and every idea afterward has been entirely ours."

"I'm sure," smiled Tempest, and stepped around an uneven bit of the path. George, still flush with his self-originating genius, failed to see it, and stumbled comically, arms flailing. She laughed, looking at him, and imagined his joke shop.

She could it in her mind's eye. Fred and George, their flame-coloured heads and gangly bodies poised at the front steps before a brightly coloured building, their arms flung wide in exaltation. Their mum and dad would be there, Mr Weasley clapping proudly, while Mrs Weasley shed a few tears of joy that the twin's mischief making had truly become something worthwhile in her eyes. The whole family would probably be gathered. Ron, Ginny, Bill, Charlie… Percy.

But if Mr Weasley's near death hadn't been enough to affect reconciliation between the family, Fred and George's success wasn't likely to.

"Where'd you go?"

Tempest pursed her lips, wishing George would take another tumble over a tree root. Percy's name had become almost taboo. "Just thinking about how many hours there are in a day," she said. "And we've only got so long before we've got to get back to the castle."

"Blimey, we just left the castle, Tempest," chuckled George, "you're a bit ahead."

"Mark of a superior brain," said Tempest, and they left it at that.

Though the day had been bright, the sky had darkened when they entered Hogsmeade. Passing Devrish and Banges, they spotted a large poster stuck up in a window. Several Hogsmeaders were looking at it, but they moved aside when Tempest and George approached. It displayed the ten faces of the escaped death eaters. The poster ' _By Order of the Ministry of Magic,_ ' offered a thousand Galleon reward to any witch or wizard with information relating to the recapture of any of the convicts pictured.

"They'll be with Voldemort," muttered Tempest, looking over the black and white faces. "There's the thousand galleons right there."

George glanced around at the other storefronts. "Last time, with Sirius, this place was crawling with Dementors. Mind you, at that point, the Ministry thought he was after you, and actually cared about your life."

"As opposed to now," said Tempest drolly. "They'd probably off me, if they could get away with it legally."

It began to drizzle.

Tempest thought hard as they made their way around the town, turning up their collars so that rain couldn't get through the necks of their jackets. The lack of effort that the Ministry seemed to be putting into finding the escapees was in high contrast to when Sirius had escaped. They had unleashed Dementors all over the countryside.

Unless… unless the Ministry was no longer as secure as they once were about the Dementors. There were the two that had attacked Tempest, and who knew how many others had gone loose, attacked others. The Ministry must have covered them up if it had been the case, as it hadn't been in the papers at all, but then again, the papers were hardly known for getting all of the facts right these days…

But neither had the Dementors left Azkaban. That would have been impossible to cover up. So the Ministry maintained some control over them, but weren't secure enough to give them the lease to hunt the death eaters down, as they would like.

It began to rain in earnest when Tempest and George were crossing the village square, and they dashed for cover under a bit of awning in a side street. A puddle was forming at their feet, and they were standing beside a couple of bins.

"Cozy," she noted, squished against George, "this place went for minimal cover, didn't they?"

The awning barely stretched a foot out from the doorframe, and put up a truly pathetic show of shelter. The pair of them squashed together, and George peered down at Tempest, his eyebrows waggling. "Romantic?"

Tempest gave a glance at the overflowing bins next to them.

"If romantic was a bag of rubbish," she said wryly. Looking at George's pout, she relented. "Oh alright then."

A lengthy snog later, Tempest and George dashed out into the pouring rain and made for the Three Broomsticks. It was too early to meet Hermione, but it would be a bit of dry, and they could get a bit of lunch together first.

They pushed open the door to the inn and stamped on the mat, shaking rain out of their hair, and taking off their jackets. They made their way over to the bar, and George left Tempest to find seats while he made their orders.

Tempest looked around, and spied Hagrid sitting alone in a corner, looking morose.

Though George had probably meant for her to find them seats by themselves for privacy, Tempest made her way over to Hagrid regardless. He was staring into a large pewter tankard, the size of a large bucket. Tempest pulled out a chair and greeted him.

Hagrid jumped and looked down at Tempest as though he barely recognized her. Tempest saw that he had fresh cuts and bruises on his face.

"Oh, it's you, Tempest," said Hagrid. "You all righ'?"

"Peachy," said Tempest, looking carefully up at Hagrid's face. "How are you?"

"Me?" sighed Hagrid, "Oh yeah, I'm grand, Tempest, grand…"

Tempest had never heard such bollocks in her life. She noticed the stiffness in Hagrid's arm when he lifted his tankard to take a swig, and there was a stain seeping through his thick waistcoat, that Tempest thought might be blood.

"In the same boat, you an' me, aren' we, Tempest?"

Tempest waited.

"Yeah… I've said it before… Both outsiders, like," said Hagrid, nodding wisely. "An' both orphans. Yeah… both orphans. Makes a diff'rence, havin' a decent family," he said, "me dad was decent. An' your mum an' dad were decent. If they'd lived, life woulda bin diff'rent, eh?"

Tempest had thought about it a lot. Pretty much as soon as she had been able to form _thought_ , it had occupied her mind. _If they had lived…_

Only recently she had stopped wondering as much.

"Family," said Hagrid gloomily, "whatever yeh say, blood's important…"

And he wiped a trickle of it out of his eye.

"Hagrid," said Tempest finally, "is this about your mother?"

But before Hagrid could answer, their names were called loudly, and the moment was broken as George walked over, holding a pint in one hand, and balancing a saucer in the other. "Hagrid, old chum!" he cheered, setting the saucer down before Tempest and sitting beside her. In doing so, he faced opposite Hagrid, and spotted his beaten face. "Bloody hell, you're not getting in punch ups, are you?"

Hagrid looked away, and drained his tankard, setting it down on the table, and getting to his feet.

"Good to see yeh, Tempest, George… er, Fred…"

"George," supplied George helpfully, and Hagrid dipped his head, looking ever more wretched.

"I'll be seein' yeh then, take care now…" and he lumbered out of the pub, disappearing into the torrential rain.

George stared after him. "Golly, what's gotten into him?"

Tempest turned back to her tea. "Dunno," she said. "I'm worried about him. You've noticed his injuries?"

"Of course I have," said George. "He just says they're part of the job."

"He's said that to me too. Only, he's not been beaten up like this previous years."

They exchanged a worried look. Their food arrived shortly afterward, and Tempest dug into her roast potatoes, while George shoveled his bangers and mash. As they ate, Tempest's mind drifted.

Her parents had used to be all she thought of. Going to school, seeing the other kids talk about their families… watching Dudley be embraced by Petunia… Tempest was guilty of seeing mannequins in storefronts, and hating the image of the nuclear family- the man, the woman, and the child between them.

Vernon had told her that her parents were unemployed, but that had sounded reasonable to Tempest, because perhaps that had meant they wanted to spend extra time with her. She imagined the three of them seated somewhere in a cozy little house, perhaps playing with a cat, or a dog. The Dursleys didn't have pets, and she hated Vernon's sister Marge's dog, but Tempest had always gotten along with the neighborhood animals.

If her parents had lived, Tempest would have had a happier childhood. She'd be normal, or at least, she wouldn't be famous for their deaths. Sirius wouldn't have gone to prison… and Voldemort…

It was difficult to think about.

Tempest became aware that she had stopped eating, her fork hanging loosely from her hand. George was looking at her concernedly.

"Should I ask?"

Tempest shook herself, and sighed. She stabbed a potato. "Don't bother. Stupid thoughts. Probably the least important thing this week."

"I wouldn't say that," said George, "there's a lot of pointless crap in this world."

Tempest gave him a tired smile. "And here we are. Stuck between the most important, most awful thing, and all this… tat."

"Tat, am I?"

"More of a tit," said Tempest, rolling her eyes. "You know what I mean though."

George, with his dad very nearly killed, and his uncles' murderer at large, did know, but he smiled and nudged Tempest's leg beneath the table. "Business for me and Fred is going quite well. Our sales went right up after the breakout. Seems people want a distraction."

"They would. Have you been looking at places to rent for your shop?"

George brightened at the mention. "We have an eye on a few places that look like they're going to come available around July."

"You'll be wanting something central, right?"

"Yeah, anything in Diagon Alley is our first choice, but we need to get a handle on how much we can sell versus our rent." George rubbed at the back of his head, brow creasing, "we'd probably want to get a third person in with us, to run the shop while Fred and I make new stuff, but that's a while off."

"Suppliers all fallen in line?"

"Yes siree, we've nailed down the good ones- is that the Skeeter woman?"

Tempest twisted around in her seat to see indeed, Rita Skeeter herself, sitting a few tables away, and with her, Luna Lovegood, and _Hermione_.

"What?"

"What," agreed Tempest, and grabbed her plate from the table. George followed, and they wound their way toward Hermione's table, grabbing spare chairs, and plonking down in front of them.

"You're early!" said Hermione in surprise, moving along to give them more room.

"You're with _her,_ " replied George, nodding at Skeeter, "I thought she was scum who wrote horrible things about people we care about?"

Skeeter bristled at George's words, her eyes flickering between Tempest and George. "Not any longer," she spat, eyes narrowing at Tempest. "That one threw me out of a train window."

All eyes at the table turned to Tempest, who didn't feel guilty in the slightest. "That would be because you were scum who wrote horrible things about people we care about. You seem fine now, anyway."

'Fine' was relative. Skeeter did not look nearly as put together as she had a year ago. The hair that had once been set in elaborate curls hung lank and unkempt around her face. There were false jewels missing from her winged glasses, and her fingernail paint was chipped. Unemployment did not suit her.

Hermione gave Tempest a look that indicated they would definitely be talking about her defenestration later, and began to explain. "So I asked you all here-"

"Blackmailed," interjected Skeeter.

"Call it what you will," said Hermione coolly, "but we're here so Tempest can tell her story about how she witnessed Voldemort's- oh, get a grip on yourself," she added contemptuously, throwing a napkin across the table, for at the sound of Voldemort's name, Skeeter had jumped so badly she had slopped half her glass of fire whiskey down herself. "Now if you're done with that- you'll write up the article, and get it published."

There was silence.

George, who had lifted his butterbeer to his mouth, lowered it. Tempest, remembering Hermione's idea for an interview, stared at her, frowning slightly. Hermione was giving a placid smile, waiting for the rest of them to digest the information. Skeeter finished blotting the front of her raincoat and looked slightly constipated. Luna was the only one who seemed unaffected, stirring her drink with a cocktail onion on a stick, looking quite content.

Skeeter broke first. She gave a breathless, slightly hysterical sort of laugh. "You actually believe it then? That He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back? All that garbage Dumbledore's been spreading about him returning?"

"It'd be difficult not to," said Tempest tightly, "seeing as I saw it happen. Still… Hermione, I agreed in theory, but the last time I had an interview… no one's going to want to publish this."

Hermione did not look at all deterred. "That's where Luna comes in. She says her father's quite happy to take Tempest's interview."

Rita's eyebrows rose. "And who is he? Does he run the paper for Twenty-five Ways to Mingle with Muggles' and the dates of the next Bring-and-Fly Sale?"

"No," said Luna, unoffended, "he's the editor of _The Quibbler._ "

Rita snorted so loudly that people at the nearby table looked around in alarm. " _The Quibbler!_ " she shrieked. "You think anyone will take it seriously if you publish in _The Quibbler?_ "

"Some people won't," said Hermione levelly, "but the _Daily Prophet's_ version of the Azkaban breakout had some gaping holes in it. I think a lot of people will be wondering whether there isn't a better explanation of what happened, and if there's an alternative story available, even if it is published in a" -she glanced sideways at Luna, "in a -well, an _unusual_ magazine- I think they might be rather keen to read it."

Skeeter did not say anything for a while, but eyed Hermione shrewdly, her head a little to one side. "It will be a unique story, I'll give you that," she said abruptly, "all right, let's say for a moment I'll do it. What kind of fee am I going to get?"

"I don't think Daddy exactly pays people to write for the magazine," said Luna dreamily. "They do it because it's an honor, and, of course, to see their names in print."

Skeeter looked as though the taste of Stinksap was strong in her mouth as she rounded on Hermione. "I'm supposed to do this _for free_?"

Here, Tempest had to laugh. "This isn't for your benefit," she said. Hermione had leant back in her chair, and Tempest felt like they had fallen on the same page. "You write up my story- _the truth-_ and we don't let out that you've been running around as unregistered animagus. People might think I'm insane and all that, but at least with my account out there in writing, they've an option other than the _Prophet_."

Hermione smiled. "Get that quill out, Rita. Tempest, you ready to tell the public the truth?"

"Sure," said Tempest. During the conversation, George had been edging her plate of half-finished food toward himself, and he was now eating away, blinking innocently at Tempest. She reverted her attention to Skeeter. "Again, and for the thousandth time. Where should I begin?"

* * *

Tempest didn't often go into so much detail when recalling the night Voldemort returned. Some things, like the sequence of events, had become a bit blurred in her mind. Other things, whether it was something Voldemort had said, or fine details, she could remember down to the exact look, smell, and taste of the moment. Cedric's eyes. Crushed grass beneath her face. Blood on her tongue.

Skeeter had prodded Tempest for details, and Tempest had given her whatever she thought was relevant. The names of the death eaters that Voldemort had named, the potion that had brought him back to fully realised life. She did not mention the apparitions of her parents and of Cedric. She left out her use of wandless magic. And she did not go into detail about Voldemort's taunting, other than 'crucioed for a bit.'

It had been strange, to tell the story to Skeeter, who scribbled on her notepad, nodding along and humming, not convinced of the truth, but wanting to get the exclusive down. Paid or no, the woman liked gossip.

Tempest wondered if the public reception would be in any way positive. If some people's opinions might be swayed, and that they'd understand a bit of the enormity of the threat that was lying beneath the surface.

It would be a while though, till she had her answer. Luna had said vaguely that she did not know how soon the interview would appear in _The Quibbler,_ as her father was expecting a long article on recent sightings of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.

Waiting on the article wasn't a hardship, with Tempest's low expectations.

Low expectations were the norm now. The next Quidditch match of the year was creeping up on them, and Tempest attended the practices when she could, though doing so was a form of self-imposed punishment.

Ron flew well, when he thought no one was looking, which wasn't often. The new beaters, on a good night, managed to stay on their brooms. And in the stands, Fred and George alternated between burying their heads in their hands, and trying to keep from weeping openly.

"It's a disaster," bemoaned Fred after one particularly terrible practice. "I don't know how Angelina's keeping her head on."

"Sloper's weight might have helped with that," said Tempest tiredly. She recalled with despair how the miserable beater had slipped off the front of his broom and fallen on Angelina. It was only with some quickly cast cushioning charms that the pair of them hadn't broken their necks.

"Ginny barely makes up for them," said George. He was in a marginally better mood than Fred, his arm around Tempest's shoulders as they walked up the hill to the castle. "If she gets the Snitch quickly, at least we'll have a short game."

Fred groaned. "If we lose to the Hufflepuffs…"

"If we lose to Zacharias Smith," corrected George. "I think I'd kill myself."

"Kill him, more like," said Fred firmly.

"Drop Sloper on him," suggested Tempest, and it got her a few weak laughs.

There were no laughs on the day of the match. The hours leading up to the game were bleak, and all of the Gryffindor team seemed tense and miserable. Angelina made a good show of trying to buck up the team spirits at the breakfast table, but afterwards, her mouth barely moved from a tight line.

True to George's hopes, the game was a short one. Ginny caught the Snitch from beneath Hufflepuff Seeker Summerby's nose, and the game came to an end after twenty-two minutes. Gryffindor lost by ten points, which wasn't as awful as it could have been. Ron, however, had let in fourteen goals, and he vanished after the match, the echoes of ' _Weasley is our King_ ' following him.

"We don't blame him," said George later, "we'd take the piss out of him, yeah, but can't find it in me to do it now."

"He played all right in the first game," recalled Tempest. "This is Umbridge's fault."

"I know," sighed George. They were seated in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room. Tempest had an astronomy book open in her lap that she wasn't reading, and George was playing with her hair.

While Tempest was making an effort to read the first line, George spoke again.

"How… what would you think if I said I was thinking of leaving Hogwarts?"

Astronomy suddenly lost whatever small amount of importance it had.

"Jolly good show," said Tempest, twisting around to look at him. "When?"

George looked shifty. "Soon. Before NEWTs. Fred and I will want to get our brooms back. But after that… you don't mind?"

Tempest's mind squirmed around, trying to find the appropriate response. "Of course I don't mind. I'll miss you, of course, but if you don't care about your NEWTs, go, be free! Merlin knows there's not much worth staying for."

George frowned. "There's you."

Squirming became a settled warm fuzziness, which gathered in Tempest's chest. To combat the phenomenon, Tempest placed a palm against George's chest, watching her fingers splay out and form an utterly ineffectual barrier against emotion.

"Don't be daft. I'd leave Hogwarts myself if I knew at all what I would do outside of it. Other than mooch off-" she _hmm hmmed_ Sirius's name, "-and I suppose the OWLs will be important."

"The only reason I even half-tried on my OWLs was to impress you," confessed George.

Tempest didn't know what to say to that. _Thank you?'_ Wasn't accurate, and ' _you idiot',_ seemed rather insensitive for George, who'd apparently begun shaping parts of his life around her before she was even aware of his feelings.

"You idiot," said Tempest, and rather ruined the effect with an irrepressible smile. "You should do things for yourself- not because you think I might like it."

George gave a sheepish smile. "I can't help it, really."

"Well then… help it!" said Tempest, exasperated. She used her palm on his chest to shove him. "It's not bloody healthy."

"Suppose not," shrugged George, "still, we're together now. This thing." He waved his hand between them, grabbed hers. "Us."

"In future," said Tempest empathetically, "no more, yeah? You've always been impressive to me, all of… this-" she eyeballed him up and down, "You don't need to change, or try, just _you_ is fine."

George flushed. He didn't come across as someone who needed reassurances, nor did he look like someone who needed to be coddled, except now, Tempest was struck with the sudden urge to cup his face, stare deeply into his eyes, and tell him that _he_ was enough.

She didn't, thankfully. It seemed a step too far for her already weakened British sensibilities. Instead, she looked down at their clasped hands, and wished George would say something to save her the trouble.

George cleared his throat. "I fucking love you, Tempest."

Tempest blinked at George. George blinked at Tempest.

"All right," said Tempest. "Thanks. I love you too," she added quickly. "Obviously. Barely needs saying."

George's smile was blinding. "Obviously," he repeated. " _Fantastic_."

* * *

It was a good thing, Tempest told herself later, that the brain could omit damning parts of sentences. Like ' _I love you too,_ ' was perfectly acceptable, and ' _I've always loved you_ ' in some cases might be accurate. Less pleasant to the ear was: ' _I love you too. I've always loved you, as a friend. as a brother. as an idea._ '


End file.
